


Two and a Half Sheets to the Wind

by Englandwouldfall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cruise Ship, Angst, Depression, Escape, F/M, Family, M/M, Romance, bartender!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7639591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole point of working on a cruise ship was to escape everything, so the last thing he needs is to run into a guy who makes him a little too honest on the first day of a month long stint around Europe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I went on a cruise and then I wrote Cruise-Destiel. I'm not even sorry. This is the kind of crap that happens in my brain.

Dean lost track of the name of the boat two switches ago. He knows that it’s something semi-related to the sky, or astrology, and it might just be the name of a Twilight book, but either way it’s crap. It pays the bills, which he doesn’t have a whole lot of because he gets board and food and doesn’t have a damn thing to spend money on anymore, so it suits him just fine.

“What can I get you?” 

The guy’s on the attractive side of unremarkable, with a lopsided dress shirt, looking about as uncomfortable as Dean felt on his first day on the boat. He’s looking too intensely at Dean to just want a drink, so he could probably drag out some old lines and flirt, and it might even make his shift go a little faster, but he’s not sure he can be bothered. It’s already been a long fucking day. 

“The most expensive dry white wine I can get,” The guy says, his voice deep enough that it reverberates around Dean’s head and pulls him into the present. He’s in the most expensive bar on the damn ship and this guy doesn’t exactly fit with the usual customer. And, scrap Dean’s earlier assessment, he’s frigging hot, with his half untucked shirt, bed head and blue, blue stare. It’s fucking depressing that Dean’s running on automatic too much to notice. 

“Twenty three dollars okay?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“For a glass?” 

“Before service charge,” Dean says, “Eighteen percent is added as standard,” 

“Perfect,” The guy kinda growls, handing over his room card. _Castiel_ , apparently. 

“You sure, dude?” Dean asks, even though he doesn’t need to. “Cause you know it ain’t covered by your drinks package which, woah, okay, is pretty crappy. How’d you draw the short straw kiddie-package, anyway?” 

“My brother is paying,” Castiel says, “He thought it was amusing,” 

“So you’re burning his money,” Dean nods, reaching for the good wine, “Fair enough,” 

“You’re American,” Castiel says, name falling to his name badge, “Dean,” 

“You caught me,” Dean says, handing over the glass, put on smile, “Lawrence, Kansas,” 

“Never been,” Castiel says, “What does my drink package cover?” 

“Uh, coke,” Dean says, glancing at the card again, “Bottled water. Filter coffee. The cheapest kinds of tea. Basically, Cas, the drinks package I get from working here gets me a whole lot more than yours gets you. How’s the wine?” 

“Excellent,” 

Dean leans forward on the bar and watches the guy’s – Castiel’s – eyes track his movements. 

“Gotta say, it seems pretty early on for the domestics to start. We left to the port, like, three hours ago,” 

“Do you have any brothers, Dean?” Castiel asks, blue eyes narrowing slightly. 

He’s halfway through shaking his head when his mouth disconnects from his brain and he actually answers the question. 

“One little brother,” 

“Are you close?” 

“Used to be,” Dean says, but by then there’s another customer waiting, who’s tapping her key-card-turned-ship-ID-turned-ship-credit against the bar like Dean’s properly inconveniencing her by not asking for her drink order instantaneously. He’s gone by the time Dean’s finished serving her and Dean tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care. 

He gets off his shift three hours later and feels a little off, like someone’s removed his kidney, the anaesthetic is staring to wear off and the pain made him wake up. He does not tell random customers about his personal life, especially not on the first day of a month long stint round Europe. He doesn’t do that. 

He definitely doesn’t talk about Sam. 

Dean throws himself on his shitty bunk in his shared box room and reaches for his cell, which is displaying the zero messages he’s had since about Christmas. Dean grunts and reaches instead for the half bottle of vodka stuffed in his suitcase and pours himself a glass, straight. Mixer involves one of the bars, which are nearly all closed and full of first-night-guests, who always hit the drink way too hard so, fuck that. Dean stares at Sam’s cell phone number until his finished tipping the vodka down his throat and it’s then that he realises he still cares. He hasn’t cared about anything for a long, long time

By the time he’s drunk enough to sleep, he’s decided he’s going to call Sam in the morning. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. 

_Hey, Sam. Guess you can’t answer right now. I figured, with the time difference. I’m in England, kind of. Weather’s about as crappy as Brits always say, but cause it’s technically summer everyone wears shorts anyway, it’s weird. Oh, uh, it’s Dean by the way. Just checking in I guess. Bye, Sammy._

*

He runs into him again at the dumb LGBT meet and greet that Dean gets put on the rota for every frigging cruise, because apparently approximately three staff members on the whole ship answered the equalities monitoring part of the sheet honestly. He doesn’t care if a bunch of privileged strangers know he’s bisexual, so he never bothered objecting. It’s easier just to turn up when they tell him. 

After he’s served everyone drinks he’s supposed to facilitate conversation and that means he can drink, which makes everything else a little more bearable. And Charlie’s okay, too. They make up a diversity tag-team, even if they’re both white and American, which represents a damn small amount of the crew populace. 

Castiel. Dean’s sure the guy only sticks out in his memory because he _actually_ called Sam. 

Castiel blurts out a totally undignified ‘Dean’ that defrosts a little of Dean’s crappy mood, because Castiel was okay enough yesterday and it’s always a boost when someone fails to hone in how much they wanna bone you. He hasn’t felt actual attraction to someone for a while and it’s good. 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean says, turning on the charm a bit, because that’s actually his job, “You sleep off that wine, buddy? You need another drink? Dry white, right? Or is that just when you’re pissing off your brother?” 

Castiel orders more expensive wine and Dean overhears him telling the other attending guests that he’s bisexual. 

Dean checks his cell when he gets back to the cabin, to find absolutely jack squat. He’s not sure what else we was expecting, but he tops off his coke with the rest of his vodka, before heading upstairs for his crew slot in the buffet. 

Charlie’s saved him a seat, but he eats alone anyway. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. 

_Hey, Sam. Small town France today. It looks pretty sweet, but I’m working, so. Uh, yeah. You haven’t called me back yet, so I’m guessing you don’t wanna talk, which is cool. I hope school is going okay. You must be graduating soon, huh? Still wanna do law? Well, whatever, call if you want._

*

The third time, Dean’s singing a set poolside. The singing was another accident, in that half the singers went down with the shits at the port stop so weren’t allowed on the boat, leaving them three entertainers short of a full schedule. Someone said Dean sang in the shower and didn’t make everyone’s ears bleed, then management tricked him into admitting he could play the guitar and he had no real reason to say no. Next thing, he’s stood in one of the usually-dead bars singing acoustic versions of Led Zeppelin, given that’s about the whole total of his repertoire. It went down okay, actually, and he got a half-promotion to Entertainer/Bartender/whatever-else-needed-doing and, whatever, it was easy enough to go with it. 

He catches Castiel eye. He’s with his brothers. 

Dean had more or less talked himself into believing that the guy wasn’t that attractive and that the only reason Dean’s been noticing him is cause of the temporary insanity the guy inspired about Sam, but that’s pure bullshit. He’s damn attractive and more so when he pulls off his shirt to deposit it on one of the sun lounges. Dean hasn’t been properly attracted to someone for a while, but apparently some American guest with rich brothers is dragging him out of his rut, and it’s strange. 

He shouldn’t do it. There’s a fine line between being charming and flirting a bit and actually giving the wrong impression, and one of them he’s supposed to do and other is going to get his ass fired. Still, Castiel catches his eye again midway through taking his shirt off. 

Dean winks at him. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. 

_I just realised, main reason I called is cause of this guy. He’s got these brothers and he asked about me, my family. Told everyone here I’ve got no family, which is kinda true I guess, then this guy asked and I mentioned you. Dunno why, except he’s got these killer blue eyes and I’m a sucker for a bed head, apparently. He asked if we were close and I realised you don’t even know I’m into dudes. How fucked is that? Seriously, Sammy. And you’re my best friend. Were, I mean. So I guess I’m just calling to come out to your voicemail. Hah. Dad knew. I mean, he walked in on me and this guy screwing. You were at school. Fucking awkward. He wasn’t too much of an asshole about it, actually. Just made it clear it wasn’t something we were gonna talk about, so we didn’t. Don’t ask don’t tell, pretty much. Guess at least I can do whatever the hell I want now. I mean, except sleep with blue eyes, because I’d get fired. It’s Dean by the way, but you probably knew that._

*

“Bartender,” An offensively British guy says, ushering him over and passing over his glass for a top up at the same time, “Settle a debate. Are most of the staff here to work or travel?” 

“Work,” Dean says, topping up his wine glass. 

“How much do you get paid?” 

“Balthazar,” Castiel says, turning up and frowning at the British guy – Balthazar – looking distinctly unimpressed, “And you say _I_ am lacking social skills. Hello, Dean.” 

“Heya, buddy,” Dean says, “The usual?” 

“Yes please,” Castiel says, watching Dean as he reaches for the stupidly expensive wine and pours him a glass. 

“One of your brothers?” 

“Cousin,” Balthazar says, “Charmed, Dean. So, you were saying. About your pay.” 

“It’s pretty crappy,” Dean says, “There’s a reason there’s not a lot of Americans working on the ship. The singing pay’s okay. You get board and food, too, but the money ain’t great.” 

“Days off?” 

“Used to be half a day a week,” Dean says “Now I get two full days, but we can pick up extra shifts. Lot of guys do that.” 

“And you can leave the ship on your days off?” 

“Can do whatever the hell you like,” 

“Do you?” Cas asks, fixing him with that blue blue gaze. 

“Not really,” Dean says, “Mostly just get steadily drunk in my bunk,” Dean says, because apparently his filter got fucked up at some point, and Dean’s fully blaming the intensity of Cas frigging staring at him. Damnit. 

Balthazar barks a laugh at that and orders three shots. Dean’s pretty sure that breaks the bounds of reasonable shift-drinking, but he’s the only one at the bar (the ‘Captains’ super private one, again) and he’s already drank enough that his good judgement’s off, cause he usually drinks before _singing_ and his set was at 11am, and then he was off till 6pm. So, he pours the three Sambuca shots and knocks one back at Balthazar’s request. 

When Balthazar excuses himself to the bathroom, Castiel leans forward and asks “Why are you working here?” Dean just looks at him for a long moment, a little frozen. “If the money isn’t great and you aren’t here to travel.” 

“The great escape, Cas,” Dean says, then heads to the other side of the bar to serve one of the other guests. He needs some space from Cas’ weird violation of his personal space and the fact that, apparently, Cas gets him a little too honest. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. 

_  
Hey Sam, I guess I’m just calling to apologise for calling. I mean, sorry. You made it pretty clear you didn’t wanna talk. You got your own life. You don’t need me offloading crap on you. Bet you’ve got a girlfriend and an apartment and a frigging dog. You remember Bones? Ha, good times. You in touch with Bobby? Seemed like you were before I left. He gave me your address, at least. He’s probably pissed at me for not calling. You should ask if he’s heard from Dad if you talk to him. If you want. I’m in Italy now. Damnit, this is a shitty apology. I won’t call again._

*

“You went somewhere nice today, Cas?” Dean asks, as Castiel comes in for his usual drink. He’s downgraded to the semi-decent stuff and Michael must have sanctioned a decent drinks package because his cards been updated, which Dean totally wants to ask about, but he won’t. He’s not supposed to care about crap. It’s been a long time since he’s cared. He’s been a walking zombie for near enough eighteen months and it’s just so typical Dean bullshit that he’s been woken up by a guy with nice eyes and stubble. 

“Genoa is beautiful,” Cas says, “Have you looked around?” 

“Nah,” Dean says. Dean’s pretty sure the only time he got off the ship in Genoa was to buy alcohol and cigarettes, before he quit (because Lisa made him). He doesn’t remember a damn thing about the place, except that the weather’s pretty decent. 

“Would you like to see my pictures?” 

“Sorry,” Dean says, “Gotta keep serving drinks.” 

“What time are you off shift?” Castiel ask and the question’s almost too straight laced to be a come on. It’s Cas eyes that totally give him away because, yeah, Cas is definitely undressing him with his eyes. Only totally seriously and practically, cause he totally seems the type. Damn. 

“At close,” Dean says, reaching for another glass for the blonde who _always_ orders mojitos and nearly colliding with Lilith, who’s watching him with beady eyes. “Sorry, buddy,” 

Lilith pulls him aside and orders him, in that creepy ass little girl voice, to suck up Castiel because ‘his brother is unfathomably rich’ and to use all means necessary, bar sleeping with him, entering his room or breaking any of the other guest-crew conduct rules, because they exist for a reason, to make him happy. Then she chucks him off shift and pushes him in Castiel’s direction which at least means he can get a fucking drink. 

“Hey,” Dean says, sitting down on the other side of the bar and signalling for Pam to get him some whiskey. “I’ve been let out early for good behaviour,” Dean says, with a not entirely false grin, “So, those holiday snaps?” 

“Are you alright?” Cas asks, frowning at him, “You seem… down today,” 

“I’m fine, dude,” Dean says, even though that’s an absolute lie, actually, and it’s weird that Cas is aware enough of him to pick up on it, given their interactions are pretty limited. 

“Are you sure?” Cas asks, as Dean finishes his whiskey and catches Pam’s eye again. “Is whiskey included in your staff drinks package?” 

“Nah,” Dean says, “Probably why I drink half my wage. Anyway,” Cas frowns at him. “It’s cool, Cas, I’m basically a functioning alcoholic anyway.” 

“I don’t think that’s funny,” 

“Not really a joke,” Dean says through the lump in his throat, “Been a crappy few weeks, okay?” 

“Switch to coke with me,” 

“Okay,” Dean says, half because he’s supposed to do whatever the hell will make the guy happy (not that he thinks keeping Castiel occupied is the way to win Michael over, but whatever, it’s not his job to question orders) and half because it’s a long, long time since someone’s cared about his welfare. Lisa, probably. Lisa probably still cares. “Two cokes, Pam,” Dean says, pushing away the whiskey he’s already frigging paid for, and letting Cas wax poetic about Genoa, which actually looks pretty nice from the look of Cas’ photos. 

In the end, he gets the whole Castiel-brothers rivalry story, along with a lot of the Castiel story, and he’s frustratingly compelling, as well as attractive. When Castiel eventually says he needs to force Gabriel out of the Martini bar just before close (“because he will start to believe that he is James Bond and we are on a boat”) and leaves with a ‘see you tomorrow’, Pam raises her eyebrows at him. 

“Playing with fire, Dean,” Pam says, passing him back the whiskey he bought earlier, “He’s a guest.” 

And Dean fucking _knows_ that, it’s just his crappy mood temporarily lightened a bit, and Cas even made him laugh, and he stopped thinking about Sam for a whole thirty minutes. Except now he feels like the biggest pile of shit, because obviously a guest doesn’t actually give a damn about his life, or his liver, and Sam doesn’t care, and also, he’s a bartender on a _cruise ship_. He’s alone, with no plan, no friends, no apartment, no future. What the hell would a guy like Castiel want with _Dean_ , except to avoid his brothers. 

This is why Dean shouldn’t want things. 

“Top me up, Pamela,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. 

_You know what, Sam? I know I said I wouldn’t call, but fuck you, okay? Fuck you, Sam. I spent my whole fucking life looking after you. I did everything I could. So I am so goddamn sorry for whatever the hell I did to make you hate me, but fuck you. Don’t call._

*

“Get up, Dean,” A voice says, accompanied by _someone_ pulling the covers off him. Dean swears into his pillow, which earns him a knee in the side. “I thought you’d quit doing this,” 

Damn, but Dean feels crappy. Worse than crappy. 

“Lise,” Dean grunts, sitting up. Oh, fuck, but his head is killing him. He’s pretty sure they should have reached port by now, but it feels a little like they’re still sailing. His stomach rolls. “Goddamn,” 

Yeah, he’s definitely going to throw up. 

Dean pushes past her and gets to the toilet just in time to throw up in the sink. Fuck, fuck and fuck. He called Sam last night, again. Dean needs to delete his frigging number again, like the damn thing isn’t burnt into his skull. Shit. 

“What the hell, Dean?” Lisa asks, hand on her hip in the bathroom door, “I thought you were doing okay.” 

“Oh yeah, Lise,” Dean mutters, “I’m fucking peachy. Why are you here?” 

“Your shift starts in half an hour,” Lisa says, expression hard, “Pam said you were chatting up some guest and then decided to pickle your liver and, for some reason, I still feel obligated to make sure you don’t get fired,” 

“Not your responsibility,” Dean says, running the water to try and wash his vomit down the sink. It’s mostly just whiskey and stomach bile. “Thanks.” 

“Get your shit together,” Lisa says, folding her arms, “And _talk_ to someone.” 

“Right,” Dean says, before more or less shutting the door on her face so he can shower and try and feel a little more human. 

*

“You don’t look very well,” Castiel says, approaching him as he sets up for an acoustic set in the library, where apparently Cas was searching for another book. He’s going on an excursion to Rome, or something, and wanted something to read during the hour and a half journey from port du Roma. Mostly, Dean’s concentrating on not throwing up and trying to work out how the hell he’s going to pay Lisa back for dragging him out of bed and still caring, even though he’s never deserved it. 

“I’m fine,” 

“Dean –”

“ - I’m hungover,” Dean snaps. 

“You weren’t drinking last night,” Cas says, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Sorry, buddy,” Dean says, “Unfortunately, one night sucking up to some guy with a rich brother ain’t gonna save me from my self, as much as I appreciated the effort.” Dean’s so getting fired. So, so, so getting fired. “You should go catch your bus to Rome, Cas.” 

Castiel leaves without another word. 

Dean’s so fucking screwed. 

*

He needs to leave the damn ship. 

Castiel told him he should, before Dean was a totally asshole, and he might just have a point. They dock in Salerno and Dean has a whole day off, so he winds up drinking an unreasonable amount of Italian coffee on a café just across from the beach, just thinking. 

Dean still has a job. Lisa’s not talking to him, not that makes a whole lot of difference, because they weren’t really talking anyway (she dumped him because he was a self-destructive, needy asshole, and it’s not like he’s changed since then), but now he’s pretty sure she’s got people spying on his alcohol intake. Then there’s Sam. 

He decides he’s gonna call again – just once. Just to say that they’re gonna be spending the next whole day at sea, so Dean won’t be able to answer his cell. There’s not a whole lot of point, cause Sam aint answering, but Dean starts feeling a little nauseas every time he thinks about his last voicemail. He was drunk and angry and fucked up and he shouldn’t have called him, and he shouldn’t have called the time before, either (shit, Dean’s pathetic when it comes to his little brother), but he doesn’t want the last thing he’s said to his brother to be the reason Sam decides not to call. He’s gonna call the second he gets back to the ship, where he left his cell. 

He speaks to this woman at tourist information who recommends a sweet Italian restaurant and Dean actually goes, even though he can eat on the ship for free. It’s actually pretty awesome and he’s almost feeling _okay_ when he boards the ship again right before they set sail. 

Except then he checks his cell and he’s got a missed call from Sam Winchester and an honest to god voicemail. 

*

He can’t really decide why Cas’ room number has stuck in his head, or what temporary madness got him to the point where he’s outside it, wrapping on the door with his knuckles. Given it’s totally within Cas’ power (and rights, actually) to get Dean fired for acting like a total asshole before and given, apparently, Cas makes him do crazy shit like talk about Sam or talk honestly about his slight-drink problem, he should avoid him at all costs. Cas doesn’t even know why his offhand question about brothers was so damn significant, or how much effect Cas’ words have actually had on his life, so why the hell is he going to Cas? 

It’s not Cas who opens the door, but Dean’s already halfway through saying ‘Cas, I need to…’ before he cuts himself off. “Is Cas around?” 

“Didn’t know the ship did that kind of service. Cassie, you been ordering male prostitutes again?” 

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Cas says, emerging from the balcony and frowning in their direction. The crease in his forehead deepens when he sees Dean there and, yeah, Dean definitely should have led with an apology. Or not showed up here at all. That would have been ace. “Are you okay, Dean?” 

“My brother called,” Dean says, through the lump in the back of his throat. There’s no good reason why Cas should know that’s a big fucking deal, but Cas’ eyes widen with concern anyway, like Dean wasn’t a total jerk last time they spoke and like he isn’t the biggest screw up on the planet, and just a bartender who Cas probably shouldn’t give a shit about, anyway. 

“Come in,” 

“Um, I’m not really supposed to be in guests rooms,” Dean says, hand going to the back of his neck. This was a worse idea than calling Sam in the first place. Damn. 

“If anyone asks, we’re old friends from home,” Cas says, “Gabriel.” 

“Shafted from my own room,” Gabriel says with an exaggerated eye roll, “Make good choice, bro. Dean.” 

Then they’re alone. 

“I have never ordered a male prostitute, or a female prostitute actually,” Cas says, looking a little flustered, “Gabriel is…”

“A big brother,” Dean finishes, “Um, sorry. About before. I… it wasn’t like that. I mean, much.” 

“I had no right to push,” Castiel says, tilting his head slightly, “You’ve just been doing your job. I’m sure you don’t need random strangers projecting friendship on you because they’re lonely and stuck on a boat with their brothers.” 

“You’re supposed to call it a ship,” Dean says, hovering in the doorway, “Boat doesn’t sound pretentious enough.” 

“I apologise. Stuck on a _ship_ ,” Cas says, smiling slightly, “You can sit down, Dean. I didn’t invite you in here to stand.” 

“Kay,” Dean says, shuffling forward to pull up a chair next to Cas on his balcony. They’ve just started to pull off from Salerno and Cas has got a pretty decent view of the Italian coast. He can kinda see why people pay extra for the balcony. “Uh.” 

“Your brother called,” Castiel prompts. 

“We haven’t spoken in, like, two and a half years,” Dean says, fist clenched, “You, uh, after you asked me about him. I mean, you probably don’t even remember, but you asked if we were close. And I called him and left him a voicemail which… yeah, it’s been a long time. Been calling him daily since, but I got nothing back. Zilch. He called today.” 

“What did he say?” 

“I dunno. I missed the call. He left a message. I haven’t listened to it yet,” Dean says, staring out at the harbour, jaw clenched. He feels a little like his insides have set like cement. He doesn’t feel anything, which just goes to show how frigging broken he is. _Sam_ called and he doesn’t feel a damn thing. “Was my day off. Went off the ship like you said I should. So I guess you could say it’s not… you weren’t projecting on me that much. I’m lonely and stuck on a boat, too, so.” 

“You and your brother were close?” 

“Yeah,” Dean swallows, “Yeah. He was my best friend. Pretty much bought that kid up.” 

“Did you have an argument?” 

“That’s one word for it,” Dean says, “You don’t have to listen to this crap, Cas. I should… I should go.” 

“Why did you come here?” Cas asks, “That’s not a complaint, I’m just trying to understand.” 

“I pretty much told everyone here that I don’t have any family,” Dean says, “Can you… can you listen to it? If it’s just Sam telling me not to call him, I don’t. I can’t hear it. It would break me.” 

“Of course,” Cas says, for some fucking reason. Dean passes him his cell, stomach muscles clenching. Cas stands up to walk to the edge of the balcony and it’s _then_ that Dean realises the guy is shirtless. His head’s too full of Sam to dwell on it but, fuck. 

“Is it… is it bad?” Dean asks, when Cas sits back down. 

“He wants you to call him,” Castiel says, gently, “And he wants you to come home.” Dean makes a wounded noise he didn’t think he was capable of making, then he swallows. He feels a little like he’s drunk, even though he actually isn’t for once. “He mentioned that a Bobby has been looking for you,” Cas continues, voice still painfully low. It’s pretty reassuring since Dean’s known the guy for about a week. “He also indicates that he didn’t have your current number to contact you on, which he seemed irritated about. He called you a jerk.” 

“That’s a thing we used to do,” Dean says, still staring out to sea. 

“I think you should listen to it,” Castiel says, then hits play after Dean nods at him. 

*

You have one new message. 

_Hey Dean, it’s Sam. I just got all your messages. I don’t really use that number anymore. I keep it just… in case, I guess. I check it like once a month. Uh, this is weird. I wasn’t really expecting you to call. I mean, I’m glad you did. We’ve been really worried. I mean, Bobby said you just disappeared, but he wasn’t exactly looking in Italy. Where’s the impala? It seemed like you were moving a lot from your voicemails. Are you… are you coming home? I want to… I can’t do this to your voicemail. Call me back, okay? And next time tell someone when you get a new cell number, jerk._


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you going to call him back?” Castiel asks, leaning on the balcony. He’s given Dean a few minutes just to process and _now_ he’s gently pushing him. There’s no reason Castiel should care, but Dean honestly believes he does, and that’s… strange. Surprisingly good. It’s not as uncomfortable as he’d have expected it to be, even if feels like an itch under his ribs that he’d never be able to get to to scratch.

“I dunno,” Dean says, hand on the back of his neck, watching them pull out of the port. It’s slow. He hasn’t watched the process for a while, but he used to all the time when he first boarded. Whenever he could. The act of leaving without ripping out any roots was soothing. “It’s… I’ve wanted to hear his voice for such a damn long time, but now I got no idea what to say to him.”

“You can do this at your own pace, Dean,”

“What if my own pace is so frigging slow he gives up?”

“I’m not an expert on your brother,” Castiel says, gently, voice kind of incredible. It feels like his words are scraping over his thought processes. He can _feel_ them and he hasn’t felt anything for a long time. “But he didn’t sound like he was on the cusp of giving up on you.”

“Maybe,” Dean says, hand still clutched round his cell phone, staring out over the sea. 

“Do you want a drink?”

“Something strong,” Dean says, even though he feels like a jerk for it, and he’s half expecting Cas to tell him to go fuck himself, but he doesn’t. “Cas, not from the damn mini bar. You know what the mark up on that crap is for?”

“Michael is paying,”

“Right,” Dean says, “What is that? Whose big brother buys them a cruise ship?”

“He hasn’t purchased the cruise ship,”

“Why’s he picking up your bill, Cas?”

“He effectively swindled us out of our inheritance to prove a point,” Castiel says, “This is compensation.”

“Uh, what?”

“There was a legal battle,” Castiel says, looking slightly bored, “Lucifer ‘sassed him’ over Christmas dinner, Michael decided to prove he was more intelligent by essentially suing Lucifer to prove our father’s wishes only prioritised _Michael_ and charged the legal bill to our inheritance. Lucifer is a lawyer, so it was essentially a way to flip him off. My brother’s fights are… unorthodox.”

“Holy crap,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows at him. “And you’re just… okay with this?”

“Afterwards, Michael drafted Lucifer in to make the financial decisions, which is a status quo that works for all of us. Michael likes feeling superior, Lucifer likes the power. We all generally agreed that Gabriel and great wealth is a bad idea and I prefer the freedom of not being involved. I am happy to be bribed with vacations if it ends their bickering. Here.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, taking the glass Castiel passes his way, “Well, that puts my family issues into perspective.”

“Dean,” Cas says, frowning at him, “Your brother is clearly very important to you.” Dean downs the contents of his glass – some miniature of whiskey that probably cost several hours of his wage – before setting it down on the table on Cas’ balcony. “It’s understandable that you’re shaken by this.”

“Right,” Dean says, resisting the urge to ring his hands, lump rising in the back of his throat. Sam wants him to call. He actually said it. Dean’s got it recorded and _saved_ on his cell phone, to listen to on repeat forever. Sam wants him to call. He wants to talk. “Whatever, sorry for bothering you, man. I better head,”

“You can stay,”

“Can’t,” Dean says, “I’m doing a set on the top deck in half an hour. I gotta…. I gotta get my head on straight. You, um, thanks.”

“Dean,” Cas says, when Dean’s half way out the door. His voice is commanding enough that Dean actually stops to turn round and look at him, even if, right now, he just wants to be out of there. He needs to get far away from Castiel as he can on this stupid fucking boat. “Keep me updated,”

“Kay,” Dean says, then jolts to a stop when he remembers just how screwed he is If someone sees him wondering out of Castiel’s stateroom. “Can you, uh, check the coast is clear?”

*

You have one new message.

_Hey Dean, it's Sam calling again if you didn't program my new number into your cell again. You, uh, haven't called yet. I've listened to your voicemails like a hundred times now and I had all this stuff to say and then I just didn't say any of it last time. I thought you'd call but, okay. So, hey. Yeah I'm just finishing up my undergrad. I'm gonna do family law, which I'm sure you'll think is hilarious. Got a full ride at Stanford so I'm gonna be staying in California. Um. I'm at Bobby's right now. He's kinda mad you didn't call, but mostly just relieved. We didn't know where the hell you were, Dean, you just disappeared. You were gone and suddenly you're in Europe? What the hell? I get that you're mad at me and I really think we need to talk about everything. Can you message me a time I should call? And, uh, obviously I don't care about the guy thing. Bobby doesn't either. He insisted on listening to all your messages too, I think he thought you were dead. Call me._

*

“You been to any of those shows yet?” Dean asks Cas, whilst he’s making up Gabriel’s tooth-decay-in-a-glass craft cocktail, with extra sugar. Gabriel hasn’t been paying attention to their conversation for a long ass time, but he arches an eyebrow at him at that.

“No,” Cas says, looking at him like Dean’s saying something profound, “Would you recommend them?”

They haven’t spoken since Dean made his big exit a few days back. There hasn’t been a whole lot of opportunity to, in his defence, but… still. 

“Go to the stage show tonight. Sounds pretty lame, but it’s pretty good. Oh, and the bendy trapeze artist? That’s Lisa, my ex.”

“Okay, Dean.” Cas says, meeting his gaze head on, taking a sip of his fancy-ass-wine. He’s so frigging intense with his staring that Dean would bet a day’s wage that the guy’s undressing him with his eyes _and_ wondering if he should feel guilty about imaging Dean naked when he’s so clearly broken.

*

You have one new message.

_Hey Dean. You haven't called yet which... I thought you wanted to talk? Look, neither of us knew you weren't with Dad, okay? Bobby's looking for him now. He said he got a phone call from him about a year ago. Did you find him? Dean, I'm sorry I didn't come with you, okay? I didn't know you were gonna disappear. I didn't know you'd... I just... it was about Dad, not you, and I called you to apologise like the next day, but you'd switched numbers and I didn't know till I got through to this guy called Dirk like two weeks later. Then when I got your new number of Bobby you’d ditched that too. What the hell, Dean? Whatever. Just, call me._

*

Castiel corners him at the bar on formal night, which has Cas back to looking uncomfortable but kinda beautiful in his dress shirt and wonky bow tie. Dean may have been leant on his elbows at the bar watching him exchange barbed quips with either Michael or Lucifer (he hasn’t worked out which is which yet, mostly because they always send Castiel to get the whole round of drinks; he keeps catching himself trying to dissect the family dynamic then cursing himself for it), because his goddamn hair makes him look like he’s just had really great sex and watching him interact is just…. Interesting. More interesting than pouring glasses of champagne for privileged Americans/Australians (and some others), anyway.

“Hello, Dean,”

“Hey,” Dean says, clearing his throat, “Expensive ass wine?”

“Michael has informed us we’re drinking scotch tonight,” Castiel says, handing over six key cards. “How are you, Dean?”

“I’m awesome,” Clearly, it’s not as convincing as it could be, because Cas frowns that frown that wrinkles his forehead and Dean should _not_ recognise his goddamn expressions. “Gabriel doesn’t strike me as the scotch drinking type,”

“He isn’t,” Castiel says, “It was our father’s favourite drink.”

“Was,”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “He died eight years ago today.”

“Hence the scotch,” Dean says, nodding, “You want me to bring it over? Unless you got some extra limbs hidden somewhere, don’t reckon you can carry six.” 

“That would be very helpful,” 

“Remind me,” Dean says, “Who’s Raphael?”

“Our step brother,” 

“And Balthazar’s your invasive British cousin,” Dean says, lining up six glasses. “Any other relatives on board?”

“No,”

“You’re kind of a boy’s club, huh?”

“Dean, you seem…”

“Cas, I’m good.”

“Have you –?”

“We should talk about this later,” Dean blurts out, ungainly and awkward, which is unfair, because Cas has a certain grace about him. Yeah, he’s frigging awkward and comes across as a little…. disconnected from reality, but he radiates power and control. Dean, on the other hand, is a total chump.

It was easier when he didn’t give a damn about anything. 

*

You have one new message.

_Hey Dean. Just… checking in again. Back from Bobby’s, now, so I’m back in Palo Alto. Bobby really wants you call. He didn’t say that, I mean, cause it’s Bobby… but he… Dean, he didn’t even believe me when I said you called. He just hung up on me. Wasn’t till he listened to one of your voicemails that he believed me. I’ve never seen him like that. Um. I’m in Walmart picking up groceries right now. I’m in the queue, so I should probably – thanks – yeah I should, well. Okay. Bye, Dean._

*

Dean basically hates days at sea. The guests drink too much, he’s always put on shift somewhere and everyone’s a little restless. They left Malta pretty early yesterday, too, because apparently it’s a long way to Crete, which means that a lot of people are on edge and a little bored. Today, he landed himself with a 11am signing shift poolside (which are the worst kind of shifts, because he has to either choose to do it sober or find a way to source alcohol before breakfast finishes), which is made worse by the fact that Castiel turns up at the pool like he did it on purpose. 

He’s got a look in his eye like he’s on a mission and after Dean announces he’s about to be replaced by this couple that are a helluva lot more upbeat than Dean’s maudlin classic rock covers, he’s up and making a beeline in Dean’s direction.

“I enjoyed your set,” Castiel says, like he’s not knee deep in Dean’s mental bullshit. “Particularly the song about rambling on,”

“You mean… ramble on?” Dean asks, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smile, just a little. “Thanks.”

“Your voice conducts emotion,”

“Ironic, considering I’m pretty much emotionally dead,” Dean says, which Cas apparently doesn’t find that funny. He’s pretty sure he missed the level of inebriated he was going for this morning. “You wanna go get coffee downstairs?”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah,” Dean says and, yeah, that was too reckless. Two years hiding from himself on a boat and Dean’s still _the worst_. “Well, kind of. I know the girl on shift, she can cover my ass. And I’m out of bar uniform, so... there’s enough staff in this place that the higher ups probably got no idea who I am.”

“I would like that,” Cas says.

Charlie is working the coffee place like Dean was hoping, and she scans Lucifer’s card for Dean’s coffee (apparently Cas nicked it; their weird almost childish one-up manship and petty jabs are pretty entertaining to watch from an outside perspective) like she hasn’t known him for over a year. 

“Have you called your brother?”

“Man, you don’t fuck around. Buy me a drink first, God.”

“I bought you coffee,” Cas says, frowning at him. 

“Your brother bought me a coffee,” Dean says, because it’s easy than addressing Cas weird taking-everything-literally-thing, which is a pretty cute trait anyway, in a vaguely irritating way.

“Dean,” Cas says, narrowing his eyes slightly, till Dean’s absolutely sure that Castiel about to ask if he’s been drinking. For some reason, that’s even more off-limits than talking about Sam.

“He called me a couple more times,” 

“And?”

“I haven’t called back, yet,” Dean says, clutching at his coffee cup. His heart feels like it’s sinking but he’s just about drunk enough to answer. “Freak out every time I’m gonna. I don’t… I wanna be sober, but I suck at that. I dunno if I can deal with him in real time. I got no idea whether I want to apologise or yell at him. Had no idea I even _had_ anything to frigging apologise for till he called. I didn’t _know_ he didn’t have my number. I just... I don’t wanna talk about what went down, but Sam’s shit at respecting my boundaries. He pushes cause he thinks he’s always right.” 

“And he isn’t,” Castiel says, brow slightly furrowed. 

“Who cares about that? He’s my little brother, Cas, he doesn’t get to be right.” 

“This explains a lot about my brothers,” 

“I dunno if I can handle this,” Dean says, taking a sip of his coffee. He kind of wishes it had whiskey in it, but it’s probably for the best. “Figured it was what I wanted, but I’m not _ready_ ,”

“Could you leave another voicemail?”

“But he’s expecting me to call now,” Dean says, “He’s gonna pick up,”

“Does he turn his cell off at night?”

“Yeah,” Dean exhales, “I could do that. Maybe. I’m bottlenecking this pretty hard. Like, what the hell, it shouldn’t be this hard to call my frigging brother.” Cas gives him an almost soft look that makes him feel shit. He doesn’t need this on top of this Sam stuff, but apparently this is what Dean gets.

“Ixnay on the oopid-stay,” Charlie says, swooping down to lean near their table and jerking Dean out of his self pity.

“Huh?”

“Bossman will be here in five minutes,” Charlie says, “Scat.”

“Damnit,” Dean says, sloshing some of his coffee onto the table in his rush to stand up, “I gotta… bye, Cas.”

*

Later, Dean listens to Sam saying _‘and, uh, obviously I don't care about the guy thing’_ six times over and he suddenly feels brave. Not brave enough to hit dial without looking up the time zone differences and convincing himself that Sam definitely _will_ have his phone off or at least on silent, but still brave enough to call. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. __

 _Hey Sammy, calling from the middle of the frigging ocean. Got some pretty sage advice from Cas, that’s blue eyes, that I can take this crap at my own pace – reckon I’m his vacation project - but I guess you’ve been freaking about me not calling so, uh, hi. Congrats on the full ride. Guess we know who got the Winchester brains. Tell Bobby I'm sorry, okay? Things got kinda heavy stateside. I mean, long story - I'm okay. I'm working on a cruise ship. Forgot I didn't say that before. That probably clears a few things up. Started out bartending and waiting tables, now I uh... sing, sometimes, and play guitar, which still isn't as funny as you doing family law. Hah. I still bartend but I get more days off now. I, uh, yeah I found Dad. Don't really wanna talk about what went down before I left though. Have a good day, Sam._

*

“Cas,” Dean hisses, as Cas is disembarking the ship in Crete (it’s oppressively hot and their docked pretty far away from anything of note, but the slide show of photographs playing across the ship yesterday leaves him to believe that it’s pretty nice). Cas takes a side step and fixes him with that concerned look.

“Hello, Dean.”

“I called him,” Dean says, chest tight, because there’s this living balloon of hope sitting there. He’s been vibrating with it since he woke up this morning and he just… he needed to tell someone, because _right now_ he has something to look forward to. He hasn’t had that for a long time and he’s forgotten how it feels. He feels lighter. He woke up fucking _smiling_. “Left another voicemail.”

“Good,” Castiel says, his normal frown pulling up into a smile. It’s soft and lovely and makes Dean feel like he’s just won something.

“Enjoy Crete,” Dean says, “Take some snaps for me, man.”

*

You have one new message. __

_I can't believe I missed your call. Did you purposefully call in the middle of the night, Dean? It was good to hear from you again, anyway. Dude, that's so great about the ship! I bet you've been everywhere. And the singing too. Jess is impressed, especially since I've made her watch the video of you singing me happy birthday that first year you couldn't make it to Stanford. She never believed you didn't suck before. I know I told you I deleted it, but yeah, I still watch it every year. I...I really missed you. Are you in touch with Dad? Bobby got through to Father Jim. He said Dad was with him a couple of months ago, but that he's been going it alone for a long time. Like, two years. Jim said Dad implied you were with me. Dean, what happened? Is that what you meant when you said you had no family? Please tell me when you're gonna call._

*

“Tell me something about yourself,” Cas says, leaning forwards across the bar. Dean feels exposed enough from the way Cas is looking at him, let alone telling him _more_ about himself. He feels that look’s intense enough to get him fired without fostering this dumb kinda-friendship even further. There's a lot of cruise left for Dean to survive.

"No way, dude, you already know more about me than anyone else on this ship,"

"My knowledge is not exactly extensive,"

"Tell me about you," 

"Like what?"

"Where you're from, for a start," Dean says because, damn, he never asked that. He never even _thought_ to ask, because he was buried deep in his not caring funk.

"Nowhere near Kansas,"

"I haven't really lived in Kansas since my Mom died when I was four," Dean says, "Just an easier answer to a complicated question."

Dean's doing a pretty crap job of not telling Castiel more about himself. God _damnit_.

"West coast," Cas says.

"Pretty big area, Cas,"

"Currently I live in San Jose,"

Dean feels like someone's shot a bullet clean through his chest. Cas frowns at him.

"Are you... Dean,"

"Dude, you live, like, a thirty minutes drive from my brother. Holy..."

"Your brother lives a long way from Kansas. Or were you based further west too?"

"Uh, nearest thing I had to a base was in South Dakota. But, yeah, Sam's in Palo Alto. He's a student."

"At Stanford?"

"Yeah," Dean swallows, "Smart kid, Sammy."

"Yes," Cas says, "Did you go to college?"

"Barely got my GED," Dean says, with a forced smile, "There's a reason I'm working the bar on a cruise ship."

"I thought that was 'the great escape' rather than your education."

"We can call it a combined effort."

“If you want me to take anything for your brother,” Cas says, expression painfully serious, “A souvenir or… something.”

“What the hell,” Dean says, “You actually mean that,”

“Yes,”

“You don’t even _know_ me.” 

“I’m trying to.”

“Why?” Dean asks, closing his eyes, “Why would you do that? I’m serious here, dude. The lonely guy on a boat thing worked for like… a few days, but you’re a grown ass man, Cas, if you didn’t wanna go on holiday with your brothers I’m pretty sure you’d have skipped out. I’ve been watching you guys and, okay, you’re a little unorthodox with the… suing each other and stealing each other’s key cards and downgrading your drinks packages, but… I’ve got brothers, I can _tell_ you guys are solid.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

Cas sounds almost pleased about that. 

“The job doesn’t come with free cable,”

“We’re… close, by some definition of the word,” Cas says, dropping his gaze for a split second before bringing it back to meet it again. “I have expended a lot of effort over my life trying to be independent. Reassuming close quarters with them… I feel like I regress several decades.”

“Okay, that makes sense,”

“Does it?”

“Mostly. I mean…. Kind of. I guess.”

“Elaborate,”

“Me? I never got the desire for independence thing. I don’t… if someone’s got your back, way I see it, that’s a good thing. That’s always gonna be better than going it alone,”

“Family comes with obligation and pressure,”

“But that’s the package,” Dean says, “There’s a flipside, sure, but does it matter? Family _know_ you. Yeah, they know those crappy things you wish everyone would forget but, bottom of the line, end of the world, family’s worth a helluva lot more than _independence_. What does that even mean? It sounds a hell of a lot like code for being selfish and lonely.” Cas looks at him more intensely than the normal intense-stare and it throws Dean for a minute. He’s lucky the bar’s been so damn quiet, because … they’ve been talking for a while. “What?”

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean can feel the word in his gut, even though that makes _sense_ , “What happened?”

“No idea what you mean, buddy,”

“We’re somewhere between Athens and Rhodes floating thousands of miles away from your family, who didn’t know your current cell number. You’re… alone enough to come to a relative stranger for help. I’ve known you for just over two weeks and I’ve seen you seclude yourself and self-destruct and I want to know why.”

Dean’s never been so fucking glad to see a party of overly formal, stuck up holidaymakers arrive at the bar and start tapping their key cards on the surface of the bar. 

“Sorry, man,” Dean says, nodding over at the others, “Freak show’s over.”

By the time they’ve all ordered specialist cocktails that take a long ass time to make and Cas has been dragged away by his brothers, he almost starts believing in a deity again.

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. 

_Hey, Sam. Strange night. I haven’t listed to your last voicemail yet… I’ll call again tomorrow. Just calling to say I’m not ignoring you again. I wanna do this. Talk, I mean. I didn’t… look, Sam, I had no frigging idea you didn’t have my number. Now I’m thinking, it’s obvious, yeah…but… I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have _left_ you stranded like that. Guess I’m pretty thick headed, but it didn’t cross my mind _once_ that you – you or Bobby – were trying to call. I’m pretty fucking pissed at myself for doing that to you. Well, uh, I’m beat and… today’s been pretty rough. Bye, Sam. _

*

“Check out the ventriloquist tonight,” Dean says, leaning close to tell him whilst he’s waiting in line for his coffee. Mostly, he sought Cas out because he had half an hour free and because he didn’t want Castiel to think he’d pushed too far yesterday, even though he absolutely did. It’s just… Dean’s not sure he wants him to stop pushing. “9pm,” Dean says, then he disappears before Cas has a chance to say anything in return.

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. 

_Hey, Sam. I'm reading between the lines here, but I'm guessing Jess is your girlfriend. Tell her she has terrible taste from me. I'm not in touch with Dad. He probably figured I was with you. Huh. Mostly I've seen a lot of ports and a lot of stuck up guests. When I was dating Lisa, one of the dancers, she used to drag me sightseeing when our days off synced up, but that was a while ago. Cas half forced me off the ship awhile back. Conned him into watching tonight’s show. One of the worst ninety minutes of my life. Last time I got rotaed onto the bar service for that show I swapped it for three regular shifts. Hah. Keep me updated about things. Talk soon, Sam._

*

“What the –” 

“– Dean,” 

“Lise,” Dean blinks, pealing his eyes open to find _Lisa_ stood over his bed, which explains the knee to his side wake up call, even if he feels a little better than he usually does when he earns one of those. He’s not hungover. He’s a couple of hours away from being fully rested, but he’s not hungover. “What the hell?” 

“Shift, thirty minutes,”

“No,” Dean says, sitting up and rubbing his face, “Switched with the Michael Jackson tribute chick.”

“The Michael Jackson tribute chick,” Lisa repeats.

“With the orange afro thing,”

“Oh,” Lisa says, “You switched?”

“Yeah, maniac, because I wanted some goddamn sleep,” Dean says, “I was on the bar till _three_.”

“I didn’t mean to –“

“ – it’s fine,” Dean says, standing up and grabbing a shirt, “It’s cool, Lisa, you were just… watching my back. Wanna get breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” Lisa repeats, at which point Dean’s caffeine-less, alcohol-less brain catches up on what the probably sounds like and feels a deep seated need to backtrack. 

“Not like a date,” Dean says, “Just a catch up. If you want.”

“Okay,” 

“Meet you at the buffet breakfast in five? I need to pretty up,” Dean says, stretching, “You’re looking at me funny. Someone draw on my face whilst I was sleeping?”

“No,” Lisa says, “Okay. Meet you in five.”

By the time he’s up on the fourteenth deck for the breakfast buffet, Lisa is sat in one of the decent seats by the window with two cups of coffee. Dean gets them both food before slumping down opposite her, mostly to give himself a little time to work out why he thought this was a good idea. It's not like there's anything still there, with Lisa, but it's... she was the first hope he had for a long time. It's complicated, now.

“So,” Dean says, taking a sip of coffee, “Sea’s looking pretty blue today,”

“Seriously?”

“Just breaking the ice,” Dean says.

“You seem like you’re doing better, Dean,” Lisa says, fixing him with the same look she was using back in his bunk. Lisa cares. Lisa’s always cared and Dean’s thrown it in her face time after time, because he’s been messed up and fucked up and too absorbed in his self-loathing to notice. The fact that she still persistently wakes him up when she thinks he’s gonna miss class is a mark of how damn _good_ Lisa is and how much Dean does not deserve her still giving a damn.

“Yeah.”

“There’s really a female Michael Jackson tribute with a ginger afro?” 

Somehow, Castiel manages to walk into the buffet-breakfast-joint just as they’re laughing about how dumb the ship’s hiring decisions are, because they used to be _good_ even if ninety percent of their relationship was built on sexual attraction. Cas immediately breaks his gaze when Dean meets it and Dean feels oddly guilty for the rest of breakfast.

*

You have one new message. __

_Hey Dean. I guess this is the only form of communication you're ready for at the minute because I go straight to voicemail now. Let me know when you're ready to talk properly._

*

Castiel requests _Ramble on_ when they’re doing a crappy juke box night and yet another day at frigging sea, when Greece is finally in their review mirror and they’re officially way over the halfway mark of this damn cruise. Dean sings the whole song looking him dead in the eye.

*

You have one new message.

_Okay, I guess I don't know what happened, and I guess if this is the only way to talk then this is the only way to talk. I just really missed you, Dean. I really missed you. You just fucking disappeared. Do you know how that felt? You're my big brother. You're my _family_ and then one day you just got on a cruise ship and didn't tell anyone. You didn't _tell anyone_ , Dean. Bobby wants your number and I'm going to give it to him unless you tell me not to. We want you to come home Dean. _

* “Dean,” 

“Gabriel,” Dean says, turning on his smile, “What can I get you? Alcoholic diabetes in a glass?”

“With extra sugar syrup,” Gabriel says, with a slightly frosty smile of his own.

“Coming right up, man,” Dean says, grabbing a glass and trying to look engrossed enough in making up a cocktail to stop Gabriel from talking at him. He’s not in the mood today. Frankly, he’s not in the mood most days, but _right now_ he doesn’t need Castiel’s brother giving him a hard time when the guy has the power to get him fired so frigging fast.

“My brother likes you,” Gabriel says, “For reasons unknown.”

Dean adds a measure of gin to Gabriel’s drink.

“And Castiel… he gets… attached,”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,”

“Look, bucko, are you going to fuck my brother? Quit the foreplay – yes or no.”

“Okay, buddy, I’m bobbing around on the Mediterranean a long ass way from the only continent I have a visa to stay in without a job. I make crap all, anyway, and the _last_ thing I need is to get myself fired for screwing around with a guest, okay? Getting _laid_ is pretty damn far down my priorities and, okay, maybe I could make that a little clearer, but Cas knows that’s the score.”

“Cas,”

“Yes, Cas, Castiel. Your brother.”

“You’re a little uptight, Deano,” Gabriel says, as Dean thrusts a drink in his direction. It’s not even a real cocktail, but it’ll taste like alcoholic fruit juice and there’s tooth rotting amount of sugar in it, so Gabriel will probably like it just fine. “Maybe you should get laid.” 

Dean might just get why Castiel is lonely and frustrated enough to take Dean on as a charity case. 

*

You have one new message. __

_I found a video of you singing. I showed Jess. She thought you were great. You've changed your hair. I don't... look I'm sorry I pushed about Dad, okay, will you call me again? I'll let it go to voicemail if that's the only way you'll talk to me. I'm guessing Cas is a guest and that's why sleeping with him would get you fired. He sounds great though. I'm glad you're not alone. Call me._

*

“Hello Dean,” Castiel says, arriving at the latest LGBT meet and greet bullshit looking a little melancholy. So far, Charlie’s the only other person who’s showed and Dean’s not exactly expecting a big turnout. By this point most people have worked out the whole thing is a box ticking exercise so they right ‘inclusive’ in the frigging brochures and so aren’t exactly bothered by meeting or greeting anymore. Even Cas hasn’t attended one since the first week.

Dean gets him a glass of the nice wine before he can say anything and pushes it in his direction. 

“Looking forward to Cannes?”

“I like French food,”

“Cannes is in France?” Dean asks, which gets Cas raising an eyebrow at him before Dean realises he’s joking (not that he knew where the hell half these places were before he did the same frigging cruise route for pretty much two years straight). Cas mangles an attempt at a smile. “You okay?”

“It’s not of import,”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Dean says, trying to look casual enough about getting himself a beer that Charlie doesn’t rat him out to Lisa about drinking or catches on to the Castiel business. 

“You’re working. You don’t need to hear my complaints.”

“I’m a bartender, that’s like eighty percent of the job description.”

“I should go,”

“Cas,” Dean says, before he’s all the way out of his seat, “We’re friends, right?”

Castiel meets his gaze sharp enough that it more or less assaults Dean’s retinas.

“Are we?”

“I reckon so,” Dean says, though his mouth is a little dry, “Cas, I don’t spout my personal crap to all the boys, okay? I’m pretty tied up in the red tape of this whole employee crap, but I’d… I’d like to go for friends.” 

“Okay,” Castiel says, settling back into his seat, returning to his usual too-straight-backed-posture. “What’s your opinion on French food, Dean?”

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. __

 _Hey, Sam. I looked up that video last night. No idea when it was taken. All blurs into one after a while. I'm currently stood on the fifth deck watching us pull out the harbour. France tomorrow. Cas wants to sneak me some French food onto the boat. He tried to convince me it’s the best cuisine in the world, but I’m pretty sure that award goes to American Dinner food. Cas says I’m a heathen. He also said I should call you back. Fine to give Bobby my number, but I dunno if I'm ready to talk to him yet. Thanks for letting this roll to voicemail. I've missed you too, Sammy. I guess… uh, I wanna do it like this for now. Just, voicemails. It gives me time to think. I just… I need you to keep not picking up my calls. For now. Talk to you soon, bitch. Take care._


	3. Chapter 3

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone.

_So, I think I like French food. Who knew?_

*

“What happened with Lisa?” Castiel asks, when Dean’s sat on his balcony playing poker like he’s not at serious risk of being totally fired for just _being here_ , but someone pointed out they’re on day twenty one of this stint with only nine days left to go and it freaked him out enough to accept Cas’ offer of day-at-sea entertainment in the form of sneaking him into his stateroom to play poker.

“Lisa,” Dean says, frowning at his low straight and feeling kind glad that he drank enough vodka to mellow him out before he showed up at his door. 

“Your ex-girlfriend,”

“Yeah, no, I know who she is,” Dean says, adding another of the weird French candy they’re using in lieu of poker chips to his bet. “Short answer; I screwed up.”

“And the extended addition,”

“Before Lisa, I was pretty much just… Coasting. Floating along, I guess, and I didn’t really give a crap about anything. I didn’t care where I was going or where the hell I’d end up. I was existing and it was fine. I mean, damn, I hadn’t been _happy_ for a long fucking time, but I was dealing. Or just, not dealing I guess,” Dean says, upturning another card with a slightly frown. “At first, we were just screwing around, which turned out to be pretty awesome. We were good at screwing around and I guess we both figured maybe we could do something with that. It’s pretty lonely here, when you think about it too much. So we started dating.”

Cas turns over his card to reveal that, yeah, Dean’s cleaned up on this round. Dean sweeps his collection of candy to his side of the table as Cas deals again.

“If you wanna keep on with the boat metaphor, it was like I finally had a direction I was aiming at, only it turns out that all my steering mechanisms rotted to hell a long ass time ago, but I hadn’t noticed cause I was just coasting along. Then my shitty attempts at steering drove me straight into a frigging iceberg, till I’m going full titanic. Lise didn’t sign up for me to have a catatonic breakdown. And I thought it would be better, you know, to have someone, but it just made me realise how much I’d screwed up my whole life. I mean, Lisa tried, but our whole thing was based on good sex, so it was never gonna work even if I’d been… okay. She’s spent a lot of the last few months trying to save me from myself. She’s awesome, Lisa.”

“She’s very… flexible,” 

Dean actually laughs at that, which surprises him enough that he laughs even more. 

“I saw her teaching yoga,” Cas says, looking a little endearingly flustered, which is hilarious given how unyieldingly stoic he is. Dammnit. “I… I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Dude, you don’t have to be sorry for me being broken. It’s cool.”

“I don’t think you’re broken.”

“Well. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Like I said, we didn’t have a lot to build on,” Dean says, adding two to his bet even though he’s working with a high card that isn’t even that high, because he feels like Cas is peeling off layers of his skin. “So, tell me about wanting independence.”

“My family are very… involved in each other’s lives,” Castiel says, raising the stakes even further.

“Fold,” 

“When our father was alive, our disputes were largely dictated by whoever he seemed to favour at the time. He was closest to Lucifer, then Michael, then Gabriel, then I’d be granted special allowances. Lucifer and Michael were in particular in competition for his affections, until Lucifer decided he was above it all. In hindsight, it was all very petty, but it felt apocalyptic at the time,” Castiel says, dealing the cards again, “Everything could be used as a pawn in Michael and Lucifer’s games. They’d use my choice of friends, my romantic choices, my rebellions… all of it was enveloped in their strategy to win. I don’t know what winning looked like, but I know I wanted it, until Gabriel left,”

“Left?”

“He left home,” Castiel says, “Rather dramatically. He only went to college, but he shook off a number of our fathers beliefs and became… different. More himself. He had a life outside of what was happening between Michael and Lucifer and I realised I wanted the same. My first victories were small. I had a three month relationship without Michael or Lucifer inviting her round for a family dinner and consequently ending it. I worked at a Gas ‘N Sip rather than the family business. I did a college course about theology in night school,” Castiel says, then he catches Dean’s eye, “My father had very authoritarian religious views and we were told to believe what he told us. Exploring faith without his influence was very… empowering.” 

“Wow,”

“Or perhaps I was just rebelling, as part of another round of trying to win attention. Lucifer tried to suggest I was,” Castiel says, “I felt freer.”

“And now?” Dean asks. Neither of them have made a poker move for a while, but Dean doesn’t really care, because Castiel is fascinating. “You still feel like they’re suffocating you?”

“On occasion,” Castiel says, “I find that family have an ability to make you reset to your youth. We’ve all changed a great deal since then. Michael has ceased going to our father’s church, Lucifer released his death grip on his staunch atheism, Gabriel has, as far as I’m aware, stopped making porn.”

“Dude,” Dean says, “You could write this stuff down and sell it. Holy crap.” 

“I’ll suggest it to Balthazar,” Castiel says, with a slight smile, “He would enjoy it.”

“What kind of porn?” Dean asks, which has Cas turn an amused look in Dean’s direction. 

“I never asked,”

“You weren’t curious?”

“He’s my brother,” Castiel deadpans. Dean grins and Cas mirrors the smile right back at him and Dean gets a little caught up in it, even if this whole thing is a terrible idea. Cas gets off this boat in nine days and, up until recently, Dean’s had no intention of getting off this boat at all. 

Castiel is just about to say something that just might be big and serious by the way the guy’s staring, but then Balthazar barges his way into the room, raises an eyebrow in Dean’s direction and demands to be dealt into the game.

*

You have one new message.

_Hey Dean. I’ve told Bobby you’re all cultured and European now, with your French food and your fancy cruise ship. He just reminded me of that time you microwaved a three day old burrito and had itfor breakfast, with a beer. I guess I can deal with the voicemail thing, if that’s what you want. Jess and I have been trying to track down your ship and making bets on where you’ll call from next. She came home last week with this map of Europe and pins. I think you‘d like her. Um. I have a deadline, so I better… yeah. Thanks for calling, Dean. Jerk._

*

“Did someone confundus you before your shift?” Charlie asks, “You’ve dropped the ball on three cocktails and you’re like, the Gandalf of mixing drinks.”

“I’m giving you the rejects. What are you complaining about?”

“Is this about the dreamy guy?”

“What?”

“Coffee date guy!” Charlie says, “The _passenger_ you’re dating.”

“Bradbury, we are _not_ dating.”

“You had _coffee_ ,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Coffee.” 

“That’s the dateiest thing ever.”

“Okay, but we’re not dating,” Dean says, “I don’t do this job for the kicks, Charlie, I need the money.”

“You have two years’ experience in high grade hospitality. Go back to Kansas and become a career waiter for four times the money,” Charlie says, “But not before you _spill_ about dreamy guy. Where’s he from?”

“San Jose,” 

“You going to ditch this dream machine and shack up in the big CA?”

“No,” Dean says, “Charlie, focus. Job. Guest. Secret. Yes?”

“You’re totally rocking the forbidden relationship trope,”

“I called my like… my substitute father right before this shift,” Dean interjects, “We haven’t spoken for two years. He thought I was dead until two weeks ago when I called my estranged brother.”

“Yikes,” Charlie says. Dean forgets how much they get along when Dean’s feeling human enough for company, but Charlie would be a kick ass friend if Dean actually let her be. He’s sure she’s as lonely as he is. He’s sure there’s a story about why she’s on the boat too.

“Right,”

“So there’s no epic love story?”

“Charlie,”

“Right, focus,” Charlie nods, “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Yeah. He’s as gruff and hard assed as ever. I didn’t think I was ever gonna hear his voice again, so I’m a little freaked right now.”

“And your brother?”

“Wants an explanation,” Dean says, “For every single damn thing I’ve ever done, but is respecting my boundaries so much that he aint asking. Much.”

Charlie makes a face at him.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope,” Dean says, before swearing at the fourth cocktail he managed to screw up – and how many goddamn times has he made a long island iced tea before? - and then slamming the bottle of tequila down on the backside of the bar. His hands are shaking. He’s messed the drink up enough that even Charlie won’t drink it, given its just vodka, rum and double the amount of gin it’s supposed to have, so he gulps most of it down instead. It’s awful and definitely would get him in the crapper if there was anyone here with the power to fire him.

“How was that for you?” Charlie asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Argh,” Dean says, tipping the rest down his throat, “Fuck.”

“You want me to cover your shift?”

“You’d do that?”

“What are best friends for?” Charlie asks, as Dean pours some soda into a glass to get the taste of gin out the back of this throat.

“Charlie,”

“Sure thang, Dean. No offence, but you look like you need to be anywhere but here, so.”

“I owe you,” Dean says, as Charlie offers him one of her grins and swaps sides of the bar.

“And if Dreamy stops round, I’ll send him to your room.”

Dean flips her off as he heads back to his room, with the full intention of listening to Metallica loud enough that he can’t think anymore. 

*

You have one new message.

_Hey, Dean, Bobby said you called him. He said you sounded good and that you asked after Ellen and Pastor Jim and… and Dad. Dean, you can talk to me about Dad, if you… if you need. I swear I won’t blow up at you like last time. We need to talk about what happened, Dean. I know you don’t want to and if you just ignore this in your next voicemail, I guess that’s your call. Talk soon, I guess._

*

Balthazar is an uncompromising asshole with boundary issues who’s decided to make Dean’s life difficult by throwing him at Castiel any chance he gets. It’s another formal night, only this time Dean’s been drafted in to be a fancy-ass waiter, so he’s suited up too. There’s a jazz band and there’s dancing and champagne on tap and Dean’s only survived it so far because he’s been watching Castiel and Michael trade almost-light hearted insults since they pulled out to sea.

“Waiter,” Balthazar says, demanding his attention and swiping another glass of champagne. Balthazar is the personification of entitled charm and Dean is quite sure that he doesn’t like him. “My cousin here has drank too much,” Balthazar declares loudly, pulling Castiel into the conversation with an arm over his shoulder, “Escort him back to his stateroom to prevent him from being a danger to himself.”

“Uh,”

“Very drunk,” Balthazar says, tripping Castiel up with one foot so he stumbles. “Isn’t that right, Cassie?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,”

He’s three glasses of champagne shy of completely sober, which Dean knows because he’s been watching him all night. Dean’s watched enough of Cas’ drinking to know he’s about as far from drunk as he’s been since getting on this ship.

“Okay, Sir,” Dean says (the sir thing is a requirement for formal nights, even though it’s bullshit), “I’ll make sure your cousin gets back safe.”

“Ah,” Castiel says, just before Balthazar pushes Cas on him. He ends up with Cas leaning on his side and it strikes Dean that this is the first time they’ve ever touched. Dean’s been steadfastly avoiding it, which was apparently a really ace plan, because now his skin is prickling with the desire to rest a hand on his lower back, or inch into his warmth.

At least Balthazar’s plan gets him out of work, which Dean’s never been one to sniff at, even if it involves testing Castiel’s terrible acting skills as he awkwardly feigns a stumble on their way out the Ship’s ballroom. 

By the time they’re emerging onto Cas’ floor, the pretence is pretty much redundant. There's no one paying attention, so there’s no need for Cas faux-leaning on him for support, but he maintains it anyway. In fact, Dean’s sure he leans perceptively closer, almost burrowing a space under Dean’s arm.

"Can you take it from here, sir?" Dean asks, when they're at Cas' door, lips quirking upwards a little. The room porter is hanging around half way down the corridor, so the acting game is back on.

Cas makes a show of dropping his room key.

“Here,” Dean says, picking it up and opening the door. Cas stumbles very unconvincingly. “Let's get you inside." Dean says, offering an arm to help him over the step into his room. He makes a point to catch the room porter’s eye and roll his eyes, before Cas drags him into the room. 

His impression of drunkard has improved sufficiently that he makes Dean unbalance, till he's chest to chest with Cas. He’d need to move less than an inch to kiss him. 

“So,” Dean says, clearing his throat and taking a step back, because dissecting the curve of Cas’ top lip is actually only going to make his life more difficult and he’s battling through it as it is. Nothing has been easy for years. Piling crap on top of crap is only going to hurt him. “Gonna nosy around your room,”

“Why?” Castiel asks, then follows Dean over to the bedside cabinet, “Wait.”

“Hiding something?”

“Dean,”

“Sound kind of suspicious to me, Cas,” Dean throws back. He’s feeling pretty good. He’s feeling more himself than he has in a long time, like a five minute chat with Bobby dislodged something painful from his gut, but he still knows exactly who he is. Dean Winchester is still a barely-functioning, total screw up who can’t handle good things happening to him, because he doesn’t really believe he deserves to be happy. “You hoarding the pillow chocolates?”

“Hiding them from Gabriel,” Cas says, right behind him, “He has a startling lack of self-control.”

“Extra, extra safe condoms,” Dean says, pulling them out of the drawer and shaking the packet at him with a grin, “You thinking you were gonna get lucky, Cas?”

“Gabriel packed them for me as some brand of joke,”

“Can tell a lot about a guy from his choice of condoms,” Dean says, smirking at him, “Mr Extra Extra safe.”

“Gabriel –”

“ – is Gabriel your scape goat for everything or…?”

“Dean,” Cas says, ever so slightly flustered, which is more entertaining than it should be. Castiel is effervescently composed and screwing with him is a lot more amusing than it should be. He’s treading dangerous ground, here, but… Dean’s having _fun_.

Dean opens the box of condoms to inspect the content. 

“All present and correct,” Dean grins, “Guess the only thing safer than _extra extra safe_ is –“ 

“ – you’re acting like a child,”

“Just teasing,”

“Give them back,”

“Why? You need them? Who’s the lucky guy or gal? You sure you’re sober enough to -?” 

“Dean,” Cas says, reaching for the packet, which is perfect and hilarious. They’ve never interacted like this, when it’s light hearted and easy, and all of that seriousness that usually underlines their conversation has been pushed aside. It’s good. It makes Dean _want_ things, but it’s good nevertheless. 

“You’re such a younger brother,”

“Give them back,”

“Hmm,” 

“Dean,” Castiel says again, making a grab for them again. Dean twists his arm out the way and Cas steps further into Dean’s personal space, till they’re almost as close as they were before, only this time Dean’s grinning and Cas is trying to glare at him. It’s a poor attempt that dissolves into a smile whilst Dean watches it. 

This whole thing was a terrible idea.

“Cas,” Dean says, as Cas stares at him, gaze flicking between Dean’s eyes and mouth and _goddamnit_. All his not-flirting and not-really colluding with Castiel’s obvious interest has been well and truly shot to hell, because Dean is staring right back.

He very nearly kisses him, before his brain catches up with how fucking stupid that would be – from the room porter outside and the whole part where Cas is a _guest_ and how Dean’s last attempt at anything more than sex gutted him – and then he drops the dumb box of condoms and bolts instead.

“Guy started chucking up,” Dean tells the door porter with an eye roll, “Frigging guests.”

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_So, Cas is definitely in to me. I mean, a hundred percent into me. Been trying to head it off, you know? Make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea, but yesterday I kind of… well, threw the guy a bone. I’d had a good day and we were just dicking around and I… yeah. Well. Anyway, thinking I might avoid him for a few days. Give him time to cool off. This trip’s nearly over, anyway, and then he’ll be... Oh, and tell Jess we just hit Alicante. Let me know when you cool kids have worked it out._

*

You have one new message.

_Hey, Dean. Don’t mean to point out the obvious here… but you do know you’re into Cas too, right? I mean, you pretty much said in your first voicemail that you had a thing for him. I get the ‘we’re friends’ defensive thing, given it could get you fired and all that, but talking like you’re not hitting on him because you’re not interested is bull. Has anyone ever actually got fired for sleeping with a guest? I mean, how bad would it really be if you just… went for coffee, or something. On the down low? This is weird. I’m pretty sure I’ve never given you dating tips in my life but, uh, yeah. Think about it._

*

“I have a day off tomorrow,” Dean says, delivering Cas’ drinks even though he’s not actually on shift. He’s been wondering around looking for his opportunity (Cas’ routine is pretty predictable) and then he just… found himself grabbing Cas’ coffee. Castiel looks up at him, eyes widening slightly. “You ever been to Malaga?”

“No,”

“Got one of them nerdy guide books?” 

“I… yes,” Castiel says, eyes glancing at his coffee then back at Dean, “Do you want to… accompany me tomorrow?”

“It’s a date,” Dean says, slapping his hands on Cas’ table before disappearing to overthink for the three hours he has before his poolside singing shift. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_We’re hanging out tomorrow. Me and Cas. We actually already went for coffee on the down low so… well. Guess I was messing up this platonic thing, anyway. Got the day off, so we’re hitting Malaga, which I don’t know a single frigging thing about. Oh, here’s another clue for Jess – this company calls all its ships vaguely astrology related. It’s pretentious as fuck. How’d you two meet anyway? Guessing she’s at Stanford. Smarter than you? She hot? You been coupled up long? I’ll let you know how it goes._

*

It strikes him half way through their awkwardly quiet walk to the beach that he’s never spent any time with Castiel on dry land. Their whole acquaintance – which hasn’t spanned a particularly long length of time, even though it’s beginning to feel like it – has played out on the same damn boat.

Now, they’re strolling along the side of the beach front not-talking, because Dean has no idea what kind of crazy crap is going to come tumbling out of his mouth. He told Castiel this was a frigging _date_ , for fuck’s sake, he definitely can’t be trusted to speak.

“Are you wearing sunblock?”

“What?” Dean asks.

“Sunblock,”

“Okay,” Dean says, “Officially the worst conversation starter of all time.”

“Appropriate prevention of sunburn is of great import, Dean,” Cas says, but his lips are curved up into a smile, so he’s at least partially joking. He’s heart wrenchingly funny for a dorky little brother. Fucking gorgeous, too, and it’s not really fair that he’s so _good_. Uncompromisingly good. 

“I’ve had two years of skipping to vacation hotspots to build up a tan. This point, I’m good. What’s the plan, Cas?”

“The beach and then Spanish food. I have a restaurant in mind.”

“No museums?”

“There’s an interesting cathedral we could look at, if you prefer.” 

“The beach is good,” Dean says, pocketing his hands then changing his mind. He hasn’t been nervous about a goddamn date since he was a teenager, but here he is. He’s not even freaking out because he might get fired, he’s freaking out because he really likes the guy and that’s a pretty sobering realisation. It’s essentially the exact opposite of what he was trying to achieve. “What’s the guidebook say about this restaurant?”

“Four stars, one dollar sign, excellent tapas. I can read you the full description if you’d like.”

“No it’s… fine,” Dean says, smiling at him and then regretting it, because his stomach lurches uncomfortably. “Favourite location on this cruise so far?”

“Rome,” 

“Because?”

“Have you been?” Cas asks, “I’m intending to go back. There’s a great deal of history. The colosseum is very impressive.”

“And they sell pizza,”

“Yes,” Cas inclines his head, “They sell pizza.”

Dean smiles and he actually feels it down to his toes.

*

You have one new message. 

_Hey. Jess thinks she’s worked out which ship you’re on. Do you hit Nice or Dublin right before you get back? You wind up in Southampton? She’s, Jess, is a chemist. Yeah, she’s at Stanford. Working on her Masters. We’ve been friends for a long time. Together for like… two years. We… we live together. Did I mention that? She’s… well, you two would probably gang up on me and it would stuck for me. I’d like you to meet her. Hope it went okay with Cas. Did you… kiss? Sleep together? Keep me updated._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_Did we kiss? What the hell are you Sam, twelve? Did we frigging kiss? The answer to your goddamn question is no, we didn’t frigging kiss. We talked. We ate Tapas. We talked for four hours about all sorts of dumb, unimportant crap and then I just… left, because we had to get to the boat separately. Didn’t even give the guy a hug. If I hadn’t said the word date he’d probably have figured I just… well, whatever. And no, Sammy, you didn’t tell me you lived with Jess. Damnit, Sam! Keep me the hell updated._

*

Charlie dive bombs on the end of his bed an hour before he needs to be on shift, when he’s trying to take a goddamn nap (his roommate was talking on the phone all night because they were near enough the shore that they weren’t subject to international waters service charges), and he wakes up with a groan.

There are downsides to Charlie’s renewed efforts to butt her way into Dean’s life.

“So….how was it?”

“Was what?”

“Your date?”

“What?” Dean asks, “Who…?”

“Please, you left the ship looking all sharp and nauseated and Dreamy Eyes came back to the ship alone. I guessed,” Charlie says, then slaps the mattress next to him. “Did you make out?”

“Why do I associate with you people?” Dean complains, shutting his eyes and staring at the ceiling, “There’s _four days_ left of this cruise. Four days. _Why_ would I make this crap worse?”

“Wait, you have feelings.”

“Charlie,”

“I thought you just wanted to screw him! Boo!”

“Charlie, I don’t have feelings.”

“Shut up, you robot,” Charlie says, slapping her hand down on the bed again, “Okay, but, seriously. Would sleeping with him help? Closure? Because I’m sure I could cover for you.”

“I did not sign up for a wing woman,”

“But, Dean, okay. I know you’re all…manly and ‘no chick flick moments’ but… you, you’ve been really sad and you just started being less sad. And I love you.”

“I know,” Dean retorts, which has Charlie throwing her arms over him and essentially tackling him to his bed. Charlie cares, too. He’s been forgetting that. “I’ll handle it.”

*

You have one new message.

_Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Jess, Dean, but you can’t get all on my case about me not keeping you updated when you _disappeared_ for two years. I guess I just lost track of what I’d told you and what I hadn’t. So it sounds like you really like Cas. Dean Winchester not putting out on the first date? Second date, if you count coffee. I mean, damn. Be careful, Dean. I know what you’re like when you get invested in someone and you’re…. are you going to do it again? Maybe progress to flirting this time? Perhaps some suggestive conversation? Remember he’s leaving, Dean. _

_*_

Dublin is the coldest place they’ve been, which means Castiel has donned a tan trench coat over his shirt and wonky tie combination. Dean looks pretty out of place walking next to him in his jeans and faded Metallica t-shirt, but Dean’s in a good enough mood that he doesn’t actually care.

“Reckon we’re not gonna make it to the Gaol, cause you need to get tickets early early, but the castle is pretty cool and there’s this graveyard. Again, pretty far out, and it’s better if you get the tour guide. Irish history is like… well, you probably no more about it than me, Mr Extra Extra Safe Bookworm.”

“You like Dublin,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Dublin was the first city I got off the boat and thought I might stay off the boat. Course, then I had a reality check about visas and unemployment. Still,”

“Can we go to an Irish pub?”

“Dude, you think you’re getting back on that boat _before_ we’ve been to an Irish pub, then you’re crazy,” Dean grins, glancing at him and smiling. He has Sam and Charlie’s warnings buzzing round the back of his head, but it’s a little late for that. It’s been a little late for a while. “So where we heading first?”

*

It’s as busy as hell and hot, too, but there’s a guy with a guitar singing Galway Girl and fifty percent of the room is singing along. They managed to find a seat in a rickety table in the back corner, but it’s so loud they’re having to sit forehead to forehead to hear each other talk. Cas is frowning at his Guinness like its profoundly confusing and Dean feels a little drunk, even though he’s absolutely not. It’s the hot line of Cas’ thigh against Dean’s and the fact that they’ve been talking for hours. It’s Cas looking so damn good and Cas actually giving a damn about his brother. It’s the fact that he’s finally emerging from the pit of blackness, and then there’s Cas right there.

Cas fixes his pint of Guinness with a determined look and then takes a gulp. It doesn’t go down well, if his expression is anything to go by.

“Cas,” Dean says, leaning forward to wipe a smear of Guinness foam of Cas’ top lip. Cas doesn’t blink, but he shifts a little closer. Dean tilts his thumb to run over Cas’ cheek, next, and smiles at him. 

“I wasn’t aware you were interested,” Castiel says, yells really, over the music.

“If I wasn’t shit scared of getting fired, we’d have screwed the day you asked about my brother,” Dean yells back. Cas frowns and leans a little closer, tilting his ear in Dean’s direction. “If I wasn’t scared of –”

“Dean, I can’t hear –”

“Fuck it,” Dean mutters, cupping Cas’ cheek and pulling him for a kiss. He tastes like Guinness and he leans into Dean’s space, a hand landing on Dean’s knee and gripping tight. It’s good. It’s so so good. Cas changes the angle and shifts even closer, till Dean’s just about managing to resist the urge to crawl into his lap. He really likes Cas. He likes Cas way, way more than he should, but twisting his fingers through Cas’ shirt isn’t going to change that, and he wants to, so he goes the hell ahead and does it anyway.

They kiss through two more folk songs, before they break away just to look at each other some more.

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_Heeeyy, Sammy. I screwed up. I mean, I really fucked up, Sam. Last night of the trip tonight, so I spent the day with Cas yesterday. Except it was fucking awesome and I just… Dublin is sweet. You ever get a chance, Sam, you should go to Dublin. I was so frigging happy, all day. We just… hung out, I guess, and he’s leaving tomorrow. I didn’t even see him today and… everyone always _fucking_ leaves, Sam. You. Dad. So now I’m drunk. Like, really drunk. I haven’t been this drunk for a long ass time and, if we’re being honest here, I spent most of goddamn life here drinking. Hell, I’ve spent most of the past five years drinking. Drunk. Shit, Sam, you don’t need to hear this. Dad would be so pissed about me putting this on you. If he even gave a crap about whatever I do now, I mean. Sorry. I’m gonna… well, realistically, I’m gonna butcher my liver and pass out in my bunk, but we can go with I’m gonna go. I’m gonna go, Sam. I’ll call you later._

*

“Your coffee, good sir,” Charlie says, sitting down opposite him with an attempt at a smile. The crowd has thinned down now, so that it's the crew taking over the coffee shop, just waiting till their turn to leave. “He had a 53 disembarking card.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Dean says, taking his coffee with a grimace. He can't face food yet, but coffee will help. It'll get the crappy taste of stale alcoholic out the back of his mouth, anyway.

“It means, Dean-ile, that Dreamy Eyes left the boat an hour ago,”

“And?”

“And, Dean, you didn’t stage a romantic intervention!”

“What was the point?”

“You’re in Southampton for four days,” Charlie says, “And you’re being a mopeyface!”

“Your face is a mopeyface,” 

“Well you sure told me.”

“Will you quit interfering in my life?”

“You look like crap, Dean,” Lisa says, turning up out of nowhere to judge him. Of course, Lisa would turn up the morning after his biggest drinking spree in years, just in time to criticise him for all his mental bullshit. He’s not in the mood. He _feels_ like crap. Lisa did a lot of good in his life, sure, but... he wasn't drinking this much before they were dating. He didn't get so consumed in self hatred. It's so far from Lisa's fault that all that went down, but it's still connected in his screwed up head. She's still his ex and no one wants to deal with those when their chest hurts and they're trying to pretend everything's fine.

“Bite me,” Dean mutters, sipping more coffee.

“Whatever, Winchester,” Lisa says, “Just here to deliver a message,” 

“Really,” 

“Apparently, you picked up an admirer,”

“What can I say? I’m adorable.” Dean says, not looking up from his coffee.

“Some guy came by last night asking about you. Wanted you to meet him on the top deck. Casti-something. Cas.” 

“No!” Charlie says, then slaps a hand over her mouth.

“What?” Lisa says.

“Lisa,” Dean mutters through gritted teeth, “Why didn’t you tell me _yesterday_?”

“No! Dreamy eyes!”

“Charlie,” Dean hisses.

“Because, Dean, I didn’t think you were irresponsible enough to screw around with _a guest_. Dean, you _idiot_.”

Dean slams his hands down on the table, sending his coffee shaking, and stands up. Suddenly, he can _feel_ all the crap he’d buried under his hangover. Everything has been so close to the bone lately. He’d been living like none of the stuff that had driven him out of America had happened, but dredging up all these old hurts with Sam and having Sam ask all those questions about his Dad is slowly bringing it to the surface. He talked to Bobby. He’s left messages for Sam. He went on dates with Cas. Things were getting _better_ and now it’s just…

“Dean, maybe you can –”

“ – don’t, Charlie, it’s done,” Dean says, running a hand over his face. He wants to be face down in bed in his bunk, but he’s got to pack to piss around for a couple of days whilst they do a deep clean. He wants to not be acting like he isn’t processing a lot of frigging emotions right now, with Lisa and Charlie staring at him. He wants to be a long way from this conversation.

“Dean…”

“I know I’m an idiot, Lise, it’s…”

“But you’ve been… look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was important.” 

“It wasn’t important,” Dean spits out, forcefully enough that frigging _anyone_ could tell he was lying through his teeth. He wants not to have this many feelings about it. He wants not to care that Cas wanted him to meet him on the top deck and that Dean missed his chance. He wants not to think about what Cas must have thought when he didn’t show. It won’t help anything. “It’s fine.”

“Dean,”

“Lisa it’s fine. I don’t care about Cas. Okay?”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t care,” Lisa says, frowning as she pulls a piece of paper out her pocket. “Because…he left his number,”

Dean snatches it out of her hand so frigging fast.

*

You have reached the voicemail of Castiel. Please leave your message after the tone.

_Hey Cas, it’s Dean. Dude, I’m really sorry about last night. Lisa didn’t pass on the message until right now. I guess she didn’t… I mean, she didn’t know the context. That you’re cool. Guessing you’re already in London right now but, uh… look, I’m in Southampton for a couple of days. If you wanted… uh, anyway, I’m here for four days before swapping ships. I’m staying in the Britannia South hotel which is pretty crappy, actually, but it’s a couple of minutes away from the port. And this is my number, obviously. Just… have an awesome life, Cas._


	4. Chapter 4

Dean is going to be fine.

Yeah, he feels like there’s a vacuum in his chest and it’s completely his own fault, because Dean _knew_ exactly how this whole thing was going to wind up, but he can handle it. He’s been dealt enough crappy hands to roll with the punches, have another drink, and keep on keeping on. 

He’s got three days left to wallow in Southampton till the next cruise leaves, so he gets three days to care about this. He’s bought enough value branded vodka to get him through three crappy days of pretending like he’s not waiting for Cas to call (and he won’t), then that’s it. Then it’s done. 

He’s made too much progress in the past month to let some dumb, not quite-fling sink him. 

That fact that he’s on his second cigarette run doesn’t count. If he hadn’t optimistically bought the smallest pack known to man the second he got off the boat, then he wouldn’t have had to go back to buy a second pack.

It’s raining because it’s England and it’s always fucking raining and it’s a little too goddamn poetic to be lighting up a second cigarette in the rain, so he figures he’ll just go back to chancing smoking them in his room. It’s technically not allowed, but there was a tobacco scent clinging to everything when he got there, so it’s a whatever. He’s pretty sure the hotel owners stopped caring about the place before the twenty first century hit and aren’t about to start giving a damn now. People stay there because it’s convenient and cheap (or because it's the only place their employers will pay for them to stay). They don’t need any other selling points.

The rude receptionist is having a debate with someone when he pushes his way back into the hotel.

“With due respect, sir,” She says, with sub-zero levels of respect lacing her voice, “You’re a strange bloke _claiming_ you know one of our guests and, frankly –“ 

Dean drops his lighter because _holy crap_. He’s pretty sure that, even in England, tan trench coats aren’t exactly common.

Both of them turn around.

Castiel is standing in the lobby of the crappy Britannia South Hotel having an argument with the receptionist. He’s even more drenched from the rain than Dean and Dean’s just staring at him, because Castiel _shouldn't be here_.

“Hello Dean,”

“You know this guy?” The receptionist asks. 

Dean stares some more.

“I assumed the name of your hotel was an invitation. It didn't occur to me that it might not be until I'd reached Southampton. I hope I'm not... intruding.”

“No,” Dean blurts, “No you're... uh. Fine.”

“I'm wet.”

He is not wrong.

“Holy... yeah, uh. My rooms like up a floor. You should...” Dean trails off, before snatching Cas' bag off him and heading up the stairs, heart pounding. Cas is here. Cas actually came _back_ from London to this god awful hotel, to see _Dean_.

And… and he can _do this_. Cas isn't a guest. Dean's not at work, even if he's still on the payroll. He can do whatever the hell he likes. Cas showing up here is more than an invitation.

“Dude, you’re soaked,” Dean says, whilst he’s fumbling with the door key. He knows full well that his room is a complete state, but Cas came all the way down from London for a reason and it probably wasn’t to talk about the goddamn weather or to conduct a room inspection. “Did you _walk_ from London?”

“From the train station,” 

“You got a train?”

“It seemed quickest,” Cas says, as Dean pushes open the door and kicks his suitcase under the bed. Cas begins to peel off his trench coat. Dean coughs and vaguely tries to clear up his mess of a room and to clear space on the radiator, before he turns to see Cas is staring at him. 

“What the hell is the use of a coat that isn’t waterproof?” Dean asks, because the rain’s seeped through Castiel’s shirt, too. “Pass me that,” Dean says, taking the coat from Cas’ hands and shoving it over the radiator and turning it up. He opens the window, too, because the air is a little heady from cigarette smoke and Cas probably doesn’t need that clinging to his stuff. “You should, uh…”

“Take off my shirt too?” Cas suggests, still looking at him with that familiar intensity. There’s an amused edge to his gaze, too, which means that the guy has definitely picked up on Dean’s awkward fumbling reaction to Cas showing up in his goddamn hotel. He’s mocking him, at least a bit, and that shouldn’t be so damn hot.

Because, okay, Cas showing up here means something. 

It doesn’t mean that Cas doesn’t have a flight booked in a few days’ time, or that Dean isn’t getting back on the damn ship with another bunch of guests, but it _does_ mean that Cas has ditched out on a few days sightseeing in London for the vaguely crappy Southampton. And Dean.

“Screw it,” Dean says, then he pulls Castiel in by his belt hooks and kisses him like it’s still not allowed.

*

You have one new message. __

 _Hi, Dean. I got your last message and…. Look, Dean, you can’t maintain you don’t want to talk about all that stuff you said about not having a family and Dad and the drinking and all of that crap, and then call me drunk out your mind. You don’t get to do that, Dean. What the hell do you mean that Dad doesn’t care? What happened? And I left for college, you asshole, I wasn’t… you’re the one who left, Dean, and it’s about time you face up to the consequences of the shit you pulled. Do you have any idea how it felt when you were just gone? You just… this is so like you. This is so typical Dean Winchester and I won’t do it. You fucking deal with your crap and we talk about this. I won’t play along with your dumb game of pretending none of this happened. I’m not doing it. I want you back, Dean, but we can’t… we have to talk about this. We have to. I… I hope you’re okay, Dean. I’m sorry Cas left. That sucks. It really does. Call me._

.

*

Dean wakes up feeling deliciously well rested and content, with one of Castiel's arms thrown over him and their legs tangled together. He hasn't felt this like a person since the early days of Lisa, till he realised he couldn't handle it and started to capsize. Here, though, he feels a little in control. It’s dumb that he feels like he knows Cas a hell of a lot more than he ever knew Lisa, but he does. He really does. Anyway, Cas got so far under his skin so fucking quickly, it’s a car crash reminder that he _can_ still feel. He actually has the capacity to be happy, which he thought he’d lost years ago. He figured his head wasn’t wired that way anymore; that he’d drunk enough that it broke his brain, permanently, but he feels _happy_ right now. It’s pretty much a miracle.

Even though he knows that Cas is due to skip out and get a train back to London the second he wakes up and that it’s going to motherfucking hurt, it was still worth it. It was worth it to know how pushy Cas is when it comes to fooling around. It was worth it to have kissing him into the crappy mattress. It was worth it to have Cas curl up next to him, afterwards, like he hadn’t gotten enough of Dean yet.

Dean reaches for his cell whilst trying his best not to move. He actually has messages, which is a stark contrast to how everything had been a month ago. He has some people. Even when Cas ditches out on him, he’ll still have a couple of people. He’ll be okay. He’s fucking determined about that, now he has a glimpse of what okay might look like.

Two messages from Lisa and a new voicemail from Sam.

Last time Dean called him, it was his fucking awful drunk dial.

His stomach jolts and he's hitting play before he's really had a chance to think about it. 

Every single damn thing Sam says is absolutely fair. Dean is selfish and crappy and has no goddamn right to call Sam up when he’s feeling down. He has no right to blame Sam or John Winchester, when he’s the one who left the continent without telling anyone. He missed giving Sam dating advice about Jess. He missed his goddamn undergrad graduation. He missed Sam moving in with his first girlfriend. The celebration when he got a free ride. He missed _so_ much to wallow in his own self-pity thousands of miles away. All of that is on Dean. Its abso-fucking-lutely Dean’s fault and he knew that before he left. He knew it was his own fault.

Dean shifts Castiel’s arm off him to grab his cigarettes. He left is lighter in the reception which makes him feel worse, because it was his Dad’s, but he has a spare, crappy one he bought from a port near Naples, emblazoned with an Italian flag. He pushes the window open a little further, rests his phone on the windowsill and replays the voicemail.

Sam doesn’t need to be dealing with Dean’s bullshit. He’s actually got a life. He shouldn’t have called or at least he should have waited till he had a hold on his crap before he called. He’s just barged his way back into Sam’s life, bringing destruction and drunk dials and years’ worth of emotional bullshit.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice sleep rough and gorgeous. 

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, stubbing out his half smoked cigarette and turning around, “Should have asked.”

“I wasn’t aware you smoked,” Cas says. He probably registered that yesterday, but opted not to mention it given the circumstances. They were pretty… occupied. Wasn’t the best time to talk about Dean’s fucking lungs, even if Cas does have a bit of a saving-people complex. 

“I quit,” Dean says, “Just doing a crappy job of it.”

“I don’t mind,” Cas says, which Dean doesn’t believe for a moment. He leaves it on the saucer he’s been using as an ashtray, because it’s still half a perfectly good cigarette to come back to later. After Cas has gone. “Your brother…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice packed with sympathy and emotion and six different kinds of understanding platitudes and it’s… Dean _cannot_ handle it right now. Now Cas isn’t thinking with his downstairs brain, he’s probably taking in the shit storm of Dean’s room. There’s the cigarettes and the half empty bottle of vodka and his laundry piled up on the floor, because he couldn’t face tidying up. As much as he’s been making some improvements, Dean’s still a total mess, and Cas is due to hightail it out of his life before the end of the morning. 

“Forget it,” Dean says, turning round and fixing on a smile. “I’m good.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Dean,” Cas says, sitting up to look at him, “You can tell me.”

“Okay, let's be fucking serious here. You don't care about me. You don't give a damn about my life. Two days’ time you're gonna be on your flight back to California thinking 'bout how you had a nice trip, and the first Monday you're back at work I'm that cruise staff guy you had a two minute fling with. And, yeah, it probably wasn't worth the effort and the running around for a damn one night stand, but the sneaking around bullcrap was kinda fun. I get it. You got what you wanted, man, and you can _go_.”

Castiel frowns at him for a few minutes before stretching. 

“We should go for breakfast,”

“Breakfast,” Dean says, the word tasting wrong on his tongue, because he hadn't even dreamed as wild as fucking breakfast. He figured Cas would have called a cab last night and got the first train back to London, not dick around in Southampton for frigging breakfast. Fuck.

"Okay," Dean says, swallowing, “You, uh, got a toothbrush and crap?”

“Yes,” Cas says, “Believe it or not, Dean, I intended to stay.

He wants to opt for _not_ , but the fact that he glimpses a couple of changes of shirt in Cas’ bag makes it a little difficult to. 

*

There’s a pub down the street which serves the stodgy kind of breakfast that Dean almost can’t stomach, but will probably eat anyway. They give unlimited refills on coffee and take a pretty long time to bring out the food. Given Dean wants to drag out breakfast because he doesn’t want to give Cas a convenient point to leave, it seemed logical. Still, he wishes he knew some nice, fancy place to take Cas, who reads up restaurant recommendations in guidebooks the night before he gets anywhere. He's never felt so _classless_ before, but that might just because it's not something he ever wanted to have.

“I owe Gabriel an apology,” Dean says, once they’ve got their first cups of vaguely crappy coffee. They’re squashed up in corner booth and now Dean knows how it feels to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, he’s finding it difficult not to. He wants to break down the barrier of physical space between them, but given so far this morning Dean’s yelled at him about how he should leave and displayed his unique ability to screw up with every single person he’s ever cared about, Cas probably doesn’t _want_ Dean to rest a hand on his frigging knee. “Told him we weren’t gonna screw.”

“Gabriel is an interfering imbecile,” Cas says, “I specifically asked him _not_ to warn you off.”

“He said you get attached,” 

“He’s referring to my ex-girlfriend,” Castiel says, still looking vaguely irritated, “I am an _adult_ and more than capable of handling my feelings.”

“So you, uh, have feelings.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, equal parts impassioned and irritated. 

“Cool,” Dean says, taking a sip of coffee for something to do with his hands. Dean is so hideously unqualified for this morning. Goddamn. “Just gross him out if he acts like an asshole about it. Overshare. Tell him you couldn’t resist my charm and perky nipples.”

“Gabriel is virtually impossible to gross out,” Castiel says, “And you do have a distinct gravitational pull that’s very difficult to resist. Not that I wanted to.”

“Cas, you… you can’t just say shit like that and mean it,” Dean says, blinking at him. 

“I apologise. I know I’m intense,”

“No, I just,” Dean says, flailing around for words, “It’s not you. I mean… you get that I’m an alcohol dependent, fucked up, unlovable, miserable cruise bartender right? I don’t have a future. Hell, I barely have a goddamn present. I share a cabin on a _ship_ with a random Korean guy I’ve pretty much never spoken to. Cas, I got literally nothing to offer and you’re just….you’re awesome. Cas, first week we met you tried to help me and I just –”

“ – rightfully pointed out that it was none of my business,” Castiel says, “Dean, just because I was invested in you didn’t mean you owed me anything.”

“Cas, you prompted me to call my brother, okay. I owe you fucking _everything_ ,”

“I’m sure you would have done so anyway. You were ready to.”

“I feel the exact opposite of ready to do anything,” Dean says, “You’re… I don’t get what you’re doing here. I ain’t complaining, but I…”

“I wanted to be here,” Cas says, “And I still want to be here, Dean, whether you think I should want to or not. I am more than capable of making that decision myself.”

“Okay,” Dean says, swallowing, “Okay.” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Cas says, “But I would like to know how you came to believe these things about yourself.”

“Well, most of them are fucking true, so.”

“I’ll concede that you are a bartender on a cruise ship,” Cas says, inclining his head, “I take particular objection to unlovable.”

“Cas,” Dean exhales, “I have a history of caring a hell of a lot about people who’re just waiting for a chance to get away from me. I _know_ me giving a damn drives people away.”

“You’re speaking about your brother and your father.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, closing his eyes. “Gold star.”

“You don’t talk about them,”

“Because it _kills_ me,” Dean says, gripping hold of his coffee. “It’s just… I made my life about them, for a really long time. And then they left and I didn’t have a damn thing left.”

“Your brother… he wants you to talk to him.”

“Yeah, now he does,” Dean says, “Last time I saw him he didn’t wanna know. He’d been trying to get away from me for years and… it sounds so dumb when I talk about it. Sam… he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t… I think I said my Mom died, before. Well, I was four, but Sam was just a baby. Then it was just the three of us. Dad and me protecting Sam – from losing Mom and the bills and our grief. He was never supposed to see when I wasn’t doing okay, so it’s not… it’s not his fault. But I needed him. I really, really needed him, Cas, and he didn’t give a damn.”

“And your father?”

“Dad’s a chump I spent my whole fucking life trying to please, to have him turn around and say there was 'things he needed to do on his own'. He disappeared. I tracked him half way across America – that’s… that’s why I asked Sam to help, because he hadn’t called in _weeks_ \- and it turns out he was just dandy. He just thought it would be easier to drive off the face of the earth than tell me he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.” 

“Dean,”

“I drove over two thousand fucking miles for him to tell me to stop calling him all the damn time,” Dean says, staring at his coffee, “I was the peacemaker. It was my job to keep the family together, but I guess after Sam and Dad stopped talking, Dad figured I’d fucked up my only function in his life.”

“Your father and Sam weren’t talking?”

“Still aren’t. Sam went to college,”

“And your father objected?”

“Family first, Cas,” Dean says, and it's not meant to sound as bitter as it does, “Except I don’t count, apparently. It just… Sam applied on the sly. We didn't know a damn thing about it till he had a bag packed. He had a scholarship. They were always butting heads before, but it was something else. Massive fight. In the end, Dad said that if he went, he should stay gone. And Sam was stubborn enough to hold him to it.”

“And what did you do?”

“Well, first, I drove after to Sam to stop him hitchhiking to frigging California. Picked him up ten minutes down the road and drove him to the bus stop. Bought him a ticket. Figured I could talk Dad round. That if Sam just _apologised_ for the secrecy, crap… If Dad started acting like a parent…that he’d get Sam wasn’t walking out on us, he was just going to college, for fuck’s sake. Except then he didn’t come home at Christmas, or summer and they just kept not talking. Sam made it pretty damn clear that door was closed. Dad started acting like he didn’t exist. And then there was me.”

“Dean, have you considered – ”

“ – that Sam slamming the door was about Dad, not me? Yeah, I did, Cas. I considered it, okay, but… I gave _everything_ for that kid. Even just basic crap, like… dropping out of school to help pay the bills, so we could get an apartment instead of staying in a shitty motel. Went to his parent’s evenings. Sent him book money after he left. It wasn’t just Dad he shut out. It wasn’t just Dad he kept stuff from. I visited him, Cas, and I could tell he didn’t want me there. He didn’t call. He didn’t ask about my life. And, hell, maybe that was all about Dad… maybe he wasn’t snubbing me, maybe I just didn’t matter enough to show up on his radar _at all_.” 

“I’m sorry,”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean says, chest tight, “It’s dumb. Running away was dumb. I missed a lot. I made Sam worry instead of dealing with my crap. And now I’m screwing up his present and he’s too frigging scared about what I’m gonna do to call me out on it.” 

“I overheard that voicemail. It sounded very much like he was calling you out on it,” Castiel says, “Dean, I think you’re being unfair to yourself. You were hurt.”

“I was needy and pathetic and kind of fucking crazy. I was losing it and I was scared of what I was gonna do to myself. So I got on a boat.”

“I would very much like to punch your father in the face,” Castiel says, glancing up as their food arrives. They’ve been talking for long enough that they should have been able to eat twice over but, hey, that’s part of the reason he picked the joint, “Clearly, he’s an imbecile.”

“I guess,” Dean says, rolling his shoulders back. “Spent a helluva lot of time idolising the guy,”

“My father was also an imbecile,”

“The guy who your brothers were all fighting over? Huh,” Dean says, taking up his fork, “Look, Cas, I’m… sorry I chewed you out this morning.”

“I should have made my intentions clear," Castiel says, taking up his fork, "Or called rather than turning up at your hotel uninvited,"

"It was pretty much an implicit invite," Dean says, spearing a piece of bacon on his fork, "Just didn't figure you'd come all the way back down here. I was wallowing pretty hard, then you were _right there_ and, apparently you've got frigging intentions." 

"Dean," Cas says, "Would you be amenable to me staying in Southampton until you need to leave?"

"Really? There's not a whole lot to do. London's got... museums and a zoo."

"I have complicated feelings about zoos,"

"That doesn't surprise me at all," Dean says, reaching for a slice of toast.

"You haven't answered,"

It seems like a royally stupid way to screw himself. He already got a glimpse of how Cas leaving is going to make him feel and that's without adding last night and the vulnerability from today into the mix. Throw in a few more days of fooling around and hanging out and Dean's gonna be peeling himself off the floor. He should tell him to go. If he was sensible, he'd tell him to go now before either of them get any more invested.

He's never be sensible about protecting his own feelings.

"Dean," Cas says, "I'm trying to say I did not come here for sex."

"Well that's a damn shame," Dean says, looking up at him over his full english breakfast, "Cause I can't think how the hell else we're gonna fill the next three days."

*

You have one new message. __

 _Dean, it's been days and I'm worried. Call me. You don't have to talk about Dad... just let me know you're okay._

*

"You need to get up, Cas," Dean says, nudging the mattress with his knee, "Thirty minutes ago, need to get up."

"No,"

"Holy hell, man, you cannot possibly still be tired."

"I'm comfortable and I am,"

"You've _just_ been on vacation,"

"It was very tiring,"

"Yeah," Dean scoffs, "All that drinking expensive wines, lying about in the sun and eating good food. You're really breaking my heart."

"That was never my plan," Cas says, "Dean, come back to bed,"

"Pretty much the opposite of what I'm trying to achieve here," Dean says, but he lets Cas tug on his wrist and pull him back towards the bed anyway. Then, because Cas is a pushy asshole and because he's fucking gorgeous and basically wonderful, Dean winds up settling next to him, face to face. It tugs at something borderline painful in his gut."Hey,"

"Hello, Dean," Cas says, curling a hand around the back of his neck and bringing their lips together. Cas' mouth is soft and lovely and they've made out enough these past few days that it shouldn't still feel novel and... fulfilling, but it is. It somehow has the ability to make Dean feel like he's not broken, like it rolls back everything crappy thing that Sam and Dad ever did and said. It's awesome, even if he's beginning to suffocate on how fleeting it all is. 

"Damnit," 

"What?"

"You're really frigging... and I... fuck," Dean says, closing his eyes, "Cas,"

"I don't want to leave,"

"Don't talk about it," Dean says, and kisses him again. Hard. "We have time,"

"You've been persistently telling me we don't," Cas says, the soft heat of this thumb tracing over Dean's jaw, memorising the stubble Dean hasn't dealt with yet. Cas' fascination in it makes him not want to and he hasn't entertained sentiments like that for another person since frigging high school. Right now, looking at him feels like sticking a hand in his own stab wound.

Castiel might just be one of the most astounding individual's Dean's ever met and he is not loving the fact that, in a few hours, he's leaving. He's gone.

Dean drags him into a bruising kiss, fingers settling at the nape of Castiel's neck. His skin there is softer than it has any right to be.

Somewhere that's outside of Dean's ability to give a fuck, Cas' cell starts buzzing.

"Dean," Cas mutters, reaching for it.

"Gabriel?"

"I set an alarm," He says, prodding at it irritably, "We need to leave. I should..."

"Yeah," Dean exhales, shifting out of Cas' reach and resolutely not looking as Cas pulls on the shirt he left folded up on the bedside table, because the guy's a complete freak. "You got all your crap?"

He packed yesterday whilst Dean made fun of some british TV program about buying country real estate, but only after a whole morning of Dean trying to convince him to slack off and hang out with him. In the end, Cas won on the compromise that they could drive out the brewery Dean found a leaflet for at the car rental place, that Cas had been point blank refusing to visit. 

"I'll call you when I get to London,"

"Don't," Dean says, staring in the toilet door because it's far enough away from Cas that he doesn't have to deal with his reaction. He can hear the beat of silence and the fact that Cas has stopped halfway through zipping up his bag, though, and that's bad enough that Dean wants to peel his own skin off.

"Don't?"

"Call," Dean says, through the lump in his throat, "At the risk of sounding like a total dickbag, don't call. Or text or... whatever."

"Why?"

"Because," Dean exhales, forcing himself to turn around, because Cas deserves that,"Cas, we've both got attachment issues, here. We've both got abandonment complexes. I live on a fucking boat floating round Europe. You're in San Jose. I know how that story ends." 

"I want to call you,"

"To do what, Cas? Be my frigging pen pal? Be my fucking boyfriend, based on a couple of days of screwing around?" Cas' expression shifts. Dean's stomach turns to lead. "Look, if I could... if I could rearrange shit a way that you calling might not make things crappier for both of us, I'd do it. This isn't... I don't want to do this."

"Then don't,"

"Castiel, I am _broken_ damnit, and I gotta do some damage control with this. You call me, I'm gonna answer, every time. And I can't do that right now. I gotta... I need to fix my head. I need to fix my life."

Cas narrows his eyes at him for a few long seconds and for a split second he thinks Castiel is gonna point out the various obvious, easy way that this could work that Dean just can’t do. That he’s going to fix him with that paralysing blue stare and say _go home, Dean_. He doesn’t though. Obviously, he doesn’t, because they’ve know each other a frigging month and they’ve actually been entangled for, what, a week? A week and a half? 

People don’t make those kinds of requests on someone they barely know. 

"Okay, Dean," Cas says, so goddamn stocic that Dean has no idea what he's thinking, except he's pretty sure it's nothing good. "Do you want me to take anything to your brother?"

The last time it felt like someone was trying pull his lungs out of his throat, his Dad told him not to call anymore. This time it’s disbelief and guilt rather than rejection, but his physical emotional reaction feels the same. He feels heavy. There’s shame churning in his stomach. 

"You... I can't ask that of you. I just... I _just_..."

"The offer still stands," Castiel says, hands hanging loosely by his side, gaze intense enough to make Dean itch. Dean feels like the worst person on the whole goddamn planet right now. Cas looks more like a wounded puppy than Sam ever did when they’d run out of lucky charms, but it's all glossed over by this some crappy facade that he hasn't been wearing since half way through the cruise. Now it's back, only his emotions are leaking through. "I'm not going to deny you any form of contact with your brother just because..."

"You should," Dean says, "I'm an asshole. You should yelling me out the joint. You, Cas..."

"Dean, do you have anything for your brother?" Cas asks, voice balancing on a knife edge. It's about to split, with whatever it is that Cas is feeling flooding out, and Dean owes him his goddamn dignity, if nothing else. He doesn't get to push for an emotional response because it would make Dean feel better. Cas can do whatever the hell he likes.

"Yeah," Dean says, reaching for his leather jacket, "Yeah. Give him these."

"You bought your car keys on an indefinite cruise,"

"Oh, you have a lot to learn, Sweetheart," Dean says, then regrets it immediately. Cas looks wounded and Dean can't think of anything to fucking do, except fill the silence. "I got a 67 Chevy Impala and she might just be the love of my life."

"Sam asked about it on his first voicemail,"

"Her," Dean corrects, grabbing one of the serviettes that came with tea making facilities. "He'll need the address where she's parked too."

"Your car is parked in Palo Alto,"

"It's complicated," Dean says, "I was gonna... you know what? Doesn't matter.”

“I need a moment,” Cas says, then he’s brushing past Dean to get to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him with a solid thud. Dean closes his eyes and tries really hard not to hate himself, because he’s doing _the right thing_ , damnit. Not just for him. For _Cas_ , who should have better things to do than wait for some screwed up guy on the other side of the world to pluck up the sanity to leave him a voicemail. It’s better for them just to be done. For Cas, who _gets attached_.

He shoots off a text to Sam telling him he’s okay. He doesn’t oversell it, because his mental state is sure to tank from today onwards, but at least it’s no more radio silence. They haven’t done text messages before. He’s not sure how he feels about it, but he’s too distracted by Cas and his needing a moment to think too much about it.

“You good?” Dean asks, when Cas reemerges. 

“Yes,” Cas says, and that’s that.

It strikes Dean halfway through the journey to the station in the crappy rental they hired that he should have started the conversation in the station instead. At least then, they wouldn't be sat in awkward, stiff silence, like they didn't spend the first half of the morning making out like teenagers. It was always going to suck. He already misses the guy and he hasn't even left yet.

“I’m aware you’re right,” Cas says, when they’re halfway. His back’s ramrod straight and he’s lost any trace of humour, but the silence seems to have given him some time to get his thoughts together. “It’s logical. My brothers… they warned me I shouldn’t - ”

“ - Cas, there are worse problems them having too much heart,” Dean says, hands gripped tight on the steering wheel. Castiel frowns on him. “Just, you’re pretty down on yourself for guy who preaches self-love to others. I think you’re awesome. I think you’re the best frigging guy that’s ever got on that damn ship. You need to de-brother when you get back stateside. It’s like you said. They’re suffocating you.”

“You’ve taught me a great deal about family, Dean,”

“How’s that?”

“As irritating and potentially damaging to my mental health as my brothers are, they are truly important to me. I think I spend more time frustrated at them than enjoying their company, when I should make the most of them.”

“Gabriel’s an annoying bag of dicks, though.”

“They helped raised me,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Well, guess they can’t be that bad then. You know I... I wanted you to come down here. It was selfish and shitty of me, but goddamn, I was so fucking thrilled when you showed up in my hotel."

“I know, Dean,” Cas says, as they pull into the station parking lot.

“I’ll walk you to the platform,” Dean says, pulling the keys out of the ignition, “So this is it. ET goes home.” 

Cas is silent until they get to the platform. 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas says, his stare downright baleful and Dean really, really does not want him to go. He doesn’t want to get back onto the stupid boat. Southampton is pretty crappy, as far as Dean’s experienced, but he’d rather stay here. He’s not altogether sure he gets the appeal of England, at all, but the past couple of days have been the best days he’s had for years.

Castiel sticks his hand out for a handshake and Dean is so not okay with that being their goodbye. He raises his eyebrows at him and steps into his space, instead, so his outstretched hands gets wedged between them.

“Have an awesome life, okay,” Dean says, pulling him into a hug, and then because he’s weak and irresponsible and absolutely crap at doing the right thing, he holds on. “And don’t delete my number,”

Cas kisses him until he has to run to catch his train.

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_Hey, Sammy. Look, sorry about the radio silence. Cas stayed a couple of days and we talked about some stuff and I just needed some time, but that’s no excuse for leaving you hanging. You were dead on, Sam. I got no right to throw my crap on you when I’m not ready to talk yet. M’trying to get there. Feel like I’m making progress, at last, but I just need to process some stuff. There were reasons why I left, Sammy, and I guess I just… I feel like if I start trying to explain right now, I won’t be able to communicate it right. I wanna make things right, Sammy, and… damnit, I never meant to hurt you. So, yeah, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’m back on the ship after a few days in England. Cas is gone. This cruise is a direct repeat of last time, so I’m pretty much just reliving the last month on repeat. Hah. Least this time I got you on speed dial._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This totally wasn't supposed to be the end of this chapter. Still! Here, have dates and hanging out and mini-breaking and a break up all in one chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Charlie’s on him the second he dumps his bag in his bunk room. It’s square and small and designed to fit as many people as economically as possible, which is an unnatural backdrop for Charlie. Still, he was expecting her and almost looking forward to it.

“Tell me everything,”

“No,” Dean grunts, pulling his leather jacket it off and throwing it at his bed. All things considered, he’s feeling an approximation of okay. The Dean Winchester version of that is that he doesn’t feel a compulsion to drink any more than he usually does, which is exceeding his expectations of today by a lot. He’s stopped himself from texting Cas to ask him if he met up with his brothers okay every other minute, but it got easier after he took the battery out of his cell phone and hid it from himself in his spare sneakers, like he did with the cigarettes when he first quit but couldn’t commit enough to bin them.

“So there’s something to tell?” Charlie says, quirking up her eyebrows and looking rightfully triumphant. He ignored approximately six hundred text messages from Charlie over the last couple of days, because apparently she knew one of the other guys put up in Dean’s hotel (unsurprising, really; there’s a lot of cruise staff and not that many hotels) and they haven’t exactly been subtle. 

“Charlie,”

“Dean, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to update me,”

“No,”

“Please?”

“Goddamnit,” Dean mutters.

“Score,” Charlie beams, “Let’s get coffee and talk feelings.”

“I’ll have mine with a side order of hair braiding and smores,” Dean says, grabbing his staff ID and trying to look put out by the whole thing, even though he’d half been planning to talk to Charlie about all of it, anyway. He knows enough about his mental bullcrap to know that having someone with a little insight on the right side of the pond is probably gonna be helpful. Besides, he needs someone to go full teenage-girl-intervention and not let him call the guy.

“Don’t tempt me, Winchester,” 

*

“You gave the guy your car keys to give Sam after you dumped him? Dick move, sir,”

“Dumping requires something to be dumped from,”

“You totally had a something,” Charlie says, “Sure, it’d be a very long distance, very impractical something, but it was definitely a something.”

“Well, now it aint,”

“You let him take your car keys!”

“And?”

“You have a picture of your car in your wallet.”

“I like my car,” Dean says, squaring his shoulders against whatever it is that Charlie is going to throw at him. He’s been trying not to think about what giving Sam the keys to the impala means, because it’s probably the most symbolic thing he’s done in his whole fucking life and it’s terrifying. It means he’s telling Sam _I trust you_ , before he’s a hundred sure that he’s actually there yet. He loves Sam so goddamn much, but trusting him, after everything and when Dean is still such a mess, is hard. It’s really hard.

The conversation with Cas was still buzzing round his head. The guilt of having drunk-dialled Sam was so fresh. He was a confusing mix of content and scared and growing in awareness of how much crap needed to happen before things could really be okay again. It was a bad place to be making a decision from and he’s not a hundred percent sure he doesn’t regret it already, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.

“Okay, but, I like my xbox, I don’t carry a picture of it in my wallet,”

“You got a point?”

“That’s some serious trust-madness for someone you just dumped. Not-dumped. Just met. Dude, you okay? You look a little pale,” Charlie says, narrowing her eyes at him, “Cutestiel isn’t going to steal your car. Probably. I mean, he wants to be your boyf.” 

“Charlie, point, please,” Dean says, because his head is beginning to hurt and he’s beginning to freak out a little. He’s been so busy not thinking of all the frigging metaphors involved in giving _Sam_ the keys to his baby, that he forgot to think about his chosen method of delivery. Yesterday, giving Castiel the keys to the impala made so much sense, because…. Because Dean absolutely took him at his word. He trusted the guy when he said he wasn’t there for sex. He trusted the guy enough to risk his job to go on a goddamn date. He trusted the guy when he said Rome was worth going to, for fuck’s sake. He’d never have _dreamed_ of sending the keys to the impala in the post, let alone with a guy who’s not exactly a stranger, but apparently he trusts Castiel.

Dean can’t even imagine what John Winchester would say if he knew Dean had given the keys to the impala to an extended _male_ one night stand, because it’s so ridiculously outlandish. Except, he just did it without thinking twice. He didn’t doubt the guy for a single second, even though there is absolutely no reason why Cas should make good on the delivery. Holy hell. 

“Maybe it’s just me, but as someone who’s historically had crappy luck with the ladies, that insta-trust, risking your job, three days in bed, crazy-rash-decisions thing is worth maybe getting hurt over,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “If I wasn’t halfway crazy right this second, yeah. Charlie, I’m a hot mess. I need to stow my crap before I let it bleed over someone else. I gotta get my fucking life together. I gotta talk to Sam. I gotta deal with my issues.”

“And then?” Charlie prompts.

“ _Then_ I’ll think about calling the guy. If he hasn’t stolen my fucking car, I mean.”

Charlie slams her hands down on the table and beams at him.

*

You have one new message. __

_So, Cas showed up here today. Bobby said you'd asked for my address. He gave me the impala keys and address twenty minutes from here, so I'm guessing the impala's been in storage right under my nose for two and half years. Why didn't you tell me? I asked Cas for his number. I'm not hitting on your boyfriend, I just... seems like he knows you better than I do these days. we all miss you Dean._

*

“Sam got the keys, right?”

“Yep,” Dean says, leaning on the counter and waiting for his coffee, which Charlie is taking her sweet time making for him. He’s epicly hungover, which is a shitty start to the beginning of the rest of his life, but it took a while for the voicemail from Sam to turn up (except it didn’t really; Cas must have stopped in on Sam and given him the frigging keys the morning after his flight, jet lag be damned) and he was antsy and freaking out and actually solidly convinced that Cas was going to deliver, which meant he was lonely and miserable too. Then he got the message from Sam, which made him feel both crappier and relieved, which was at least sixteen emotions more than he could deal with. His good intentions hadn’t translated to flushing his vodka, either, so. 

“Never doubted him for a minute,” Charlie says, “You wanna not talk about him again?”

“Yep,” Dean says, clenching his fists and taking his coffee with a grimace. “I’m going to go stare at a wall and pretend to be someone else.”

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. __

_Look, Sam, he’s not my… Cas ain’t my damn boyfriend. We haven’t spoke since he left England which is… I asked him not to call me. It was complicated. He’s a good guy, Sam, and he deserves a hell of a lot better than waiting around for some guy to sort his bullcrap out, over a thousand miles away. I should’ve… look, don’t talk to him. The last thing Cas needs is getting more involved in my business. I shouldn’t have let him take the keys, anyway. Should’ve posted them. You need to apologise for butting in and leave the guy alone._

* The problem is, sobriety is awful and difficult and there’s nothing interesting _anywhere_ on this fucking boat to keep him distracted. The problem is, he’s alone and miserable and a crappy person and an even crappier brother. The problem is, every single damn person he’s trying to be better for isn’t here to see it, so it feels a hell of a lot like there’s no point in any of it.

Dean gave Sam the keys to the impala and Sam _didn’t get it_. They’re that out of sync that Sam got pissy instead of realising it was a statement of trust. Sam’s just angry at him. The impala is the single thing he has left in the world and Sam is just angry at him. And Dean _can’t_ handle it.

He drinks a half measure (well, his version of half measures) before his singing shift and counts that as half a win, and figures that he just won’t buy any more spirits once he’s ran out. By then, Sam should have pulled his head out of his ass and worked out that Dean’s _trying here_ and that the Impala keys was a massive, massive deal. He should’ve gotten bored of grilling Cas for information Dean’s not ready to give up yet. He should’ve reached out in a way that makes it easier for him to believe any of this bullshit is salvageable. 

(He's not hopeful). 

*

You have one new message. 

_Yeah, sorry Dean, but I stopped following your orders a long time ago. We’re meeting for lunch. He’s… not what I expected, but actually it makes a lot of sense. If I guy delivers errands for you after you’ve _dumped_ him, well… I get it. I get you ending it. It was a sensible call, Dean, I just… I like him. He’s a good guy. _

*

She’s English, blonde and just interesting enough to curb a little of the crappy anxious feeling swirling about in his gut. It’s been a fucking awful day. He misses Cas, which is a pile of bullshit both because he’s on the other side of the world being all buddy-buddy with Dean’s brother and because Dean’s only know him a month, goddamnit, and he’s got no right missing him. The guests on this cruise - blonde woman included - seem to be particularly self-serving, demanding and rude. It’s the third of the exact same shitty cruise in a row and Dean’s whole life has been going in circles for two years.

He’s missed a lot of important stuff just to float around the ocean making wealthy dickbags cocktails and, right this second, flirting with this english chick is making all this crap easier.

At least, it is, until Lisa shows up at the bar looking like she wants to castrate him.

“Dean,”

“Lisa,” Dean grimaces. He’s been avoiding her since the ship set sail from Southampton, because he know’s she’s gonna want to push and Dean’s pretty solidly not in the mood to talk about _Castiel_ with Lisa. He barely wants to talk about the guy at all, but apparently that’s not on the cards from any of the people he actually speaks to.

“A word, Dean,”

“Little busy,” Dean says, smiling at the blonde woman, largely because he knows it’ll infuriate her.

“Go,” Meg demands, “And keep your domestics out of my bar,”

“It aint your bar,” Dean mutters, but he unties his apron anyway. 

“Busted,” The blonde chick smiles, as Dean follows Lisa to one of the staff staircases. It’s probably a good thing that that whole thing got taken out of his hands, because… damnit, all he’s looking for right now is a distraction. From Cas and Sam and the Impala and the unsurmountable task of fixing his whole fucking life when he is utterly unqualified and doesn’t even know how to start. 

“What?” 

“What the hell are you doing, Dean?”

“Gonna have to be a bit more specific, Lise,” Dean snaps, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“A guest, in your hotel room. For _four days_. And now you’re flirting with guests left right and centre, asking to get fired,”

“Technically, he wasn’t a guest anymore,” 

“I have put a lot of work into watching your ass, Dean,”

“No one asked you to,” Dean says, “I didn’t _ask_ you to ride my ass trying to make me a better person. I didn’t _ask_ for a goddamn babysitter, Lisa. Back off.”

“You need to sort out your crap, Dean. You need to stop acting like you don’t care about anything. You need to _talk_ about your problems. You need to put down some roots, Dean, and you need to sober up.”

“I know,” Dean snaps, voice rising, “I fucking know, Lisa, I have an alcohol problem. I have six hundred kinds of problems. I just don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to deal with them when I’m stuck on this _goddamn_ boat.” Dean says, yells, stomach lurching. Holy hell, he is _awful_ and he’s too sober for this shitty conversation; he's top sober for his life. 

“Then _get off the boat_ ,” Lisa says, eyes flashing, “You don’t have to be here.”

“I am not your responsibility,” Dean says, voice breaking, lowering, stretching out the fingers that have been balled into fists since he showed up for his goddamn shift. “I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me, but you gotta stop.”

“I care about you, Winchester,”

“Don’t,” Dean says, “And I’m not saying that as some self-indulgent martyrdom, okay? I got people out there that I’m accountable to again. I got a brother. He’s gigantic and smart and lives in California and, one day, I am gonna get off this shitty boat and I’m gonna see him again. But given how bad I’ve already screwed things, I got to be _better_ before I can do that.”

“And you think the way to do that is to have some fling with a guest?”

“No,” Dean says, looking away from her and glancing down at his hands. A part of him wants to protest that it was _more_ than that, but piling on meaning is even stupider than doing in the first place. He knows that. He knows it’s one of the worst ideas he’s had since he got on a damn ship, but he doesn’t regret it. He got a glimpse of the fact that life can be fun, again. Dean can be fun and flirt and dick around and not feel dead inside. He can _do_ those things. He’s not shipwrecked yet. “That just happened. It was dumb, but it’s done, and it… look, Lise, this is gonna sound backwards, but it wouldn't've happened if I wasn’t… look, I checked out of my whole life. I checked out on my identity and having plans and crap and I’m… I am interested again. I’m starting to wake up.”

Lisa leans against the side of the stairwell and folds her arms, not looking at him. She’s listening to him, though. 

“And, I gotta say, you helped with that,” Dean says. She raises her gaze to meet his at that, at least. “It’s just then I stopped being numb to all the stuff I was running from, too, and it felt like things were getting worse, but that’s just cause I stopped ignoring all my goddamn pain. Look, I know it looks like I’m losing it, but I swear I’m getting there,”

“You’re being reckless,”

“Exactly! I’m reckless as fuck, Lisa. Call it a character flaw. Sleeping with a guests is the exact kind of crap I’d pull, I’ve just been too out of the game. If I told my brother who few stupid rash decisions I’d made these two and a half years he wouldn’t believe you for a hot second. I’ve been a frigging zombie.”

“So now it’s a good thing you’re going to get yourself fired,” Lisa says, voice gaining a little heat, but she’s definitely not about to start yelling at him again.

“No, it’s just a symptom of a good thing,” Dean says, chest tight.

“And what’s outrageously flirting with anyone who looks at you twice a symptom of?”

“Uh, distracting myself at how fucking painful it is to be sober,” Dean says, “And the recklessness thing. And being an asshole. Did I mention the fact that I’m an asshole?”

“You’re sober,” Lisa says, voice flat. He’s not entirely sure that Lisa believes him, or if it matters, because… really, the take-away from this whole exercise is that Dean really, really needs some goddamn help. He’s getting a slither of an idea about how hard getting his crap squared away is going to be and he’s pretty sure that it is not all going to be possible on a boat. “And it’s because of that dorky looking guest with the trench coat.”

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head, “No. Cas was right. I didn’t call my brother cause of Cas. I called him cause I was ready to call him. I didn’t _notice_ the guy because he’s a special snowflake with magic healing powers, just… getting better enough to notice when awesome people are trying to catch my eye. Not saying I don’t like him a lot. Guy’s incredible and I'm bummed he's so far away, but this is real life. We gotta save ourselves.”

“You’re sober,”

“Tonight I am,” Dean says, “It sucks.”

“I had a kid,” Lisa says, “Ben. His dad… his dad was a bit of a schmuck, but we were gonna be a family. Try and make it work. And then he was born without a pulse.”

“Lisa,”

“You should go back to your shift,” Lisa says, blinking, “But if you need to talk,”

Dean nods once before heading back to the bar. 

*

You have one new message. __

_Having lunch with Castiel again next week. You know how smart he is? Look, if you haven’t called me back because you’re pissed about the whole Cas thing, I get it, but we’re not talking about you. He asked how you were when he dropped off the keys, but he hasn’t mentioned you since. He got the memo. He moved out here for work like, a year ago, and I don’t think he knows that many people but it’s… whatever, I’ll add it onto the list of things not to mention in these dumb voicemails if I want a response. Call me when you’re ready to quit being such a baby._

*

The top deck gets quiet around midnight, but for the few newlyweds who can't get enough of each other's company rather than the alcohol and the guests who haven't gotten over the sea novelty yet, which means it's by and large Dean's chosen destination for being alone. The sea's pretty calm tonight and the ocean is fucking huge and, right now, that feels pretty reassuring.

It's also his prime spot for making phone calls he doesn't really want his roommate listening to.

Bobby answers the phone with a 'what?' rather than a hello, because he's orney is hell and yet still twenty times better at talking about his feelings than Dean.

"Hey Bobby," Dean exhales, trying not to think too hard about how fucking awesome it is to hear Bobby's voice. 

"How is it, you only leave your damn brother voicemails and I'm still the last to know."

"Huh?"

"That boy of yours,"

"Damnit, Sammy," Dean says, "He tell you it was done?"

"Sounds about as done as your whining," Bobby grunts, "Which I'm guessing is the reason you called."

“Bobby,” Dean says, trying to sound like a feels even a little guilty about ringing Bobby up to complain, when having Bobby gripe at him is the most comforting thing Dean’s heard for years. It washes over him like homesickness, but in a way Dean wants more of.. 

“Aint like I'm not used to it. Still better than spending two years wondering where the hell you've been - ”

“ - never meant for that to happen, Bobby,” Dean says, “It wasn't supposed to be that long. It just happened.”

“Family don't end with blood, boy.” 

“I get it and I'm... I totally frigging lost it out there.”

“Do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?”

“You _know_ I wasn't okay before I left.”

“Yeah,” Bobby says, “But your brother don't. By your design, I might add. He's working it out.”

“I wanna... I wanna explain,” Dean exhales, “Bobby, I gotta get him to forgive me.”

“You talked it out yet?”

“Don't want it to sound like I'm blaming him,” Dean says, resting his elbows on the rails and closing his eyes. The sea is so goddamn big and Dean is so far away from pretty much every person he cares about, but Bobby still cares.

“Put a hat on me and call me captain obvious, but seems like first step to that is not to blame him.”

“I don't,” 

“You sure?” Bobby says, “Speaking as someone who took his call right after you boys last met, I got a pretty good insight into what went down. What I got no idea about is what happened to make you jump ship altogether,”

“Sam called you,” 

“Yeah, he called me, pissed off I'd given out his address without warning you'd be turning up.”

“He was pissed at you?”

“Told him I hadn't realised his address was some kind of state secret,”

“He didn't even want me to know where he frigging lived?” Dean asks, white hot frustration igniting in his gut because _goddamnit_ Sam. Why does he have be such a selfish, thoughtless kid sometimes? Why does Sam have to _pull_ stuff like this?

“He wanted you to call and ask yourself, y'idjit,”

“That is some a grade bullshit, right there. After everything -” Dean says, grip tightening on his phone, “ _What_ about the crap Sam was pulling back then would’ve made me think he’d have picked up my call. What, was I supposed to just call and call and wait for him to find the time to call me back like a teenage fucking girl,”

“ - but sure, Dean, you don't blame your brother,” Bobby interrupts. 

“I asked him one favour, Bobby. One fucking favour, and he just -”

“- he was barely out of his teens. He was a kid, Dean, and by definition a snot-nosed idiot.”

“He's my brother,” 

“Exactly. Family isn't supposed to make you feel good about yourself all hours of the day, Dean, it's supposed to hurt. That's why people have friends.”

“But I didn't,” Dean exhales.

“I know, kid. And I ain't saying your brother shouldn't've did what he did, but you better have some peace with it before you start starting peace talks from different goddamn continents.”

“I keep telling Sammy that, but he doesn't get it,”

“I'll talk to him,” Bobby says. “Sam's got plenty reasons to be pissed at you too, Dean.” 

“You think I don't know that?” Dean asks, “I'm gonna be atoning for this for my whole life, for both of you.”

“Did it help?” Bobby asks, “Running away so damn far we thought you were gone?”

“Honestly, Bobby, where I was at then? Yeah. It helped. I'm a total mess now with no idea how to fix anything, but I'm... I'm not where I was. Running saved me, Bobby.”

“Then you're forgiven, y'idjit. Don't mean you don't owe me a hell of a Christmas present for the next decade, but…”

“Yeah, okay, Bobby.”

“Where are you?” 

"The ocean," Dean says, "I got no idea. Everything's a fucking daze right now. I'm just working and sleeping and stressing."

"Really,"

"I'm... I'm trying to cut down my drinking, but I had no frigging idea that it would be so hard. Figured it was an obvious first step but..."

“Damnit, Dean,” 

“I know, I know. I wanna fix everything but it's... yeah. I'm trying.”

“Good. Fighting is half the damn battle. And you come home the second you're able to, you here me? I don't care what Sam or John said, I want you to come home.”

“I'll think about it,” 

“Before Christmas,” 

“Deal”, Dean says, “Christmas in South Dakota. You got me sold.”

“Good,”

“Awesome,” Dean exhales, “So how do I forgive Sam?”

“You start by not setting him up to fail,” Bobby says, “And actually tell him when crap is important to you, instead of assuming he’s gonna work it out on his own.”

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Hey, Sam. You taking care of my baby okay? If you haven’t picked her up yet, I’m disowning you. Seemed like an okay place so she shouldnt’ve started rusting, but you need to pretty her up. Pamper her. If she ain’t running okay, you gotta call me and talk through the problem. No garages. You take my baby to a garage over my dead body. And you… know she’s just a car to you, Sammy, but we’ve had a lot of memories in that car. Lot of good times. Dad picked her out for Mom, too, so you gotta… take care of her, you hear me? I’ll hear about it._

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_Are you kidding? I practically chucked Cas out the second he gave me the address to get there as quick as I could. No rust. She’s running pretty good, too. Bobby’s gonna give her a tune up when he’s next here - like I’d dream of taking her to a garage, Dean, I know the rules - and I’ll look after her, I swear. You know that army man I crammed in the ashtray? It’s still stuck there. The lego you shoved in the vents? The heat came on yesterday and I could hear them rattle the whole way home. Dean, we drove a thousand miles for an ozzy show. Two days for a Jayhawks game. You remember that time we parked her in the middle of nowhere, sat on the hood, set off those stolen fireworks? Did you know you left your mixtapes in here? Dude, I totally forgot you’ve listened to the _same_ four albums your whole life. Sat in there yesterday and listened to that tape you played, you know, that one you made us listen to the whole way from Vegas to Bobby’s? Gonna try rig it up inside to play it for Jess tonight. I really wanna her to get what it was like, when it was us and the impala and the whole of America and the road._

*

“We should sync schedules and then do a coming-of-age symbolic finding-ourselves- journey around Europe,” Charlie says, sitting down opposite him at the breakfast buffet with her own plate of bacon. 

“Sounds well thought through,”

“It was the cruise dream,” Charlie says, “Early conceptions involved more romance, I’ll admit, but…” 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says.

“Really?”

“Sure,”

“Can we get t-shirts?”

“Uh, no,” Dean says, spearing his mostly-cold bacon onto his fork. He just missed the freshly cooked bacon delivered and got stuck with the stuff that’s been under the heaters, but he’s in too much of a good mood to really give a damn. “And no montages.” 

“Selfies?”

“Uh, fine,” Dean concedes, through a mouthful of bacon, “Where you wanna go?”

“Not that I’m complaining, but I was expecting a little more grumpy reluctance,” Charlie says, “Are you feeling shifter-y? Smell sulphur?”

“Huh,”

“YA novels,” Charlie says, “You’re chirper before coffee. What gives?”

“My little brother is awesome,” Dean says, “My baby is back on the road, even if it’s just crappy city driving. Bobby’s got a crush on the frigging Sheriff. Everything is kick-ass.”

“Does Sam use his special powers for good or evil?” Charlie asks, buttering her toast. Dean frowns at her. “His magical ability to dictate moods from thousands of miles away.”

“Hey,”

“This codependency thing is cool when it’s all rainbows and butterflies. Just looking out for you.”

“Put Rome on this list,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes, “Cas says is awesome,”

“Says?”

“Said,” Dean corrects, as Charlie pulls a pen out from somewhere and starts scribbling on a napkin. “Athens, maybe.”

“Barcelona,” Charlie says, “Naples, Rhodes, Montenegro, Belfast,”

“Florence,” Dean says, “Pretty sure we can get a day trip into Paris from one of the ports, but I dunno. Might be tight for getting back on board in time for crew-checks.”

“Pretty sure that’s one of the other routes,” Charlie says, drawing a pretty crappy splodge that Dean’s reckoning is _supposed_ to be Europe, if the label of ‘Rome’ and a square called ‘Germany’ is anything to go by. 

“We’re switching next time, right?”

“To fortnightly,” Charlie agrees, “I’ll work out a plan.”

She entitles the napkin ‘Charlie and Dean’s great European adventure’ before going to get a top up of lukewarm breakfast items looking way more chirper than anyone on shift to run a children's club should do, but then Charlie’s always been a pretty spectacular brand of special. 

She has more of a point than Dean wants to admit, too, which is why it’s a good thing that Dean has no doubt that frigging napkin is a binding contract, as far as Charlie’s concerned. It’ll be a good distraction. It’ll be good to have come out of this thing having actually experienced something. It’s good for him to try and develop his own fucking life. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. __

_You know, Sammy, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you talk about our childhood without saying how much you hated it. Glad you’re looking after her. Talk soon._

*

You have one new message. __

_Dean, I didn’t hate our childhood. You can’t hate the only thing you’ve ever known. There’s stuff I didn’t remember, but… you were great, Dean, and Dad was doing the best he could. I get that now. I didn’t even hate it when I left. I just wanted a normal life, Dean, and… Stanford was my way of doing that. Of getting to be me. Of having a chance to build something. It didn’t mean I wanted this_

. 

*

The nine till half ten singing-shift in the cheapest bar on the evening before a sea day is not exactly Dean’s idea of a good time, because the guest’s desire to get shit faced and spend their sailing time hungover is, apparently, an epidemic. Dean and his guitar and his repertoire of acoustic rock songs isn’t exactly what the good time girls want. Some genius higher up figured it might mellow them out and prevent having to install a ship drunk-tank, but Dean knows a lost cause when he sees one. 

He’s also about as sober as he’s ever been when singing, even if he’d probably still fail a breathalyser. He’s trying, but there’s a couple of things which are outside his concept of doable right now. Already, this is miserable and crappy and he’d probably be heckling him, too.

“Cheer up,” Someone yells from the group at the back, which is pretty sage advice, “Sing something else,”

“Any suggestions?” Dean asks, because he’s _more_ than completely done with this whole thing. It shuts the guy at the back up, anyway, even if it means he’ll probably get some kind of complaint from the anal fuckers who actually bother filling in their post-cruise entertainment survey.

The silence is the kind of awkward that will, at least, increase drink sales. 

“Eye of the tiger,” Some brave chick puts forward, which is at least somewhere within the region of the stuff he’s been singing. Last time someone requested something from him, it was One Direction and Dean nearly told him to go screw himself. 

“Sure thing, Sweetheart,” Dean says, trying to remember the chords and getting there in a few strums. He’s got no idea how the hell it’s supposed to work with just him, but whatever. He’s done. At least _somebody_ in this room might enjoy it.

He actually ends up having a pretty good time. The girl and her friends get up to dance. A few more requests roll in. A few people actually join in singing. By the time he’s done, he’s got a few people approaching him to talk about the universal appeal of AC/DC and when he’s next playing and it actually winds up being a _good shift_.

He thinks Cas would have enjoyed it which is an unhelpful, traitor of a thought that Dean tries to kick out the second he registers it’s still there. It basically tanks, so Dean just finds other crap he can fill his brain with. It’s been his most successful method of missing Castiel so far.

Another voicemail from Sam showed up at some point this evening, too, even though Dean hasn’t had a chance to call back from the last yet. He’s listened to the last couple a few dozen times, so that he’s lining his insides with Sam talking about the impala and Sam saying he didn’t hate their childhood and Sam listening to Dean’s mixtapes like he actually misses him. He said he did, but that’s proof, real proof, that Sam wants him around.

Dean’s borderline cheerful when he’s hit play on the balcony of the top deck. 

His good mood doesn’t last for long. 

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_Don’t be mad at him, Dean, but I spoke to Cas and he… he let slip some stuff you told him about Dad that he thought I already knew. Pretty sure he still doesn’t know I, ah, so I was kind of talking like I knew what he was talking about. It wasn’t his fault, Dean. Cas didn’t know he was giving me new information. But he was talking like… like… it sounded like you and Dad had decided you weren’t going to be in contact anymore. Like it was definite that Dad wasn’t going to be in our lives again, ever. And… I spent two and a half years thinking you were together, Dean. I thought you’d just… I thought you’d picked your side. I thought you were just done with me just like Dad was done with me, but actually you were done with all of us. You’ve spent so long pissed at me for choosing to have my own life and running away, but you left with no intention of ever… did you negotiate for both of us? Is that why Dad hasn’t called me for the last three years? Because you two had some fight and came to some crappy agreement? Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to let me believe you left because you were broken, not because you were selfish, forever?_

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_It wasn’t exactly a fucking agreement, Sam, I didn’t agree to any of this crap. And they’re pretty rich accusations there considering it was your petty, dumb fight with Dad that drove him away. I didn’t have a damn thing to do with either of your decisions. Pretty sure I haven’t been considered in your little pissing match, ever, because here’s the truth, Sammy: neither of you ever gave a damn about me because you’re both the same spoilt, single minded brats, with no idea about the consequences of your actions. If I selfish for running away, then I think I fucking earned that right after years of thanklessly trying to look out for this family._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_Sammy, don’t listen to that last voicemail. Please. Just delete it. I’ll explain everything right now, I just need you to delete that last message. Please, Sam._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_You gotta understand, Sammy, I’ve always sucked at being alone. You and Dad… you’re the independent ones. I need people. S’pathetic, but I always figured that keeping us all together was my calling. That every crap thing that happened would be worth it if we stuck it out together. I was fucking thrilled you got to go to college, Sam... but you just had to go so damn far away and Dad just… But it was okay. I got it and I was doing … more or less okay, but then Dad took off too._

 _He’d been taking off for a while. Got to drinking a lot. I mean, a lot a lot, but then he was gone for weeks and.... Was pretty drunk when I turned up at yours, which was frigging stupid. But I… guess it was a fucked up cry for help. Figured you'd get how much it cost me to show up there and ask you.... I never asked you for anything, Sammy, hadn’t since you left. I tired to respect your boundaries. Only talked about Dad when you asked. Didn’t come visit you like you wanted. Stopped calling you as much, even though it was killing me. But you… I wanted you to see that I needed you, right then, but all you heard was the stuff about Dad. You didn’t even see me._

_Guess I realised Dad was right. You could’ve… could’ve studied closer. Could’ve come home some breaks. Invite me up for thanksgivings. Called me. Told me where you fucking lived so I didn’t have to get your address from Bobby. Asked how I was doing. But it was all… Sam’s new start. Sam Winchester’s normal life that you carved out for yourself without room for me in it, that you were never gonna invite me into._

_Found Dad a couple of days after by tracking his credit card. He was fine. I’d been thinking he was dying or locked up or just, something, but no. Walked into this coffee shop to find him sweet talking the fucking waitress, like I hadn’t been calling him sixteen times a day and going out of my mind. Said he had some stuff he needed to do on his own. He was pretty crystal clear that he didn't want me around anymore. Told me not to call him, cept I didn't trust myself not to do that so I…. I was fucking losing it, Sam, and I… smashed up my cell with a goddamn mallet. Put yours and Bobby’s numbers into my new cell, but I was… drunk and messed up and too fucked up to register you wouldn’t be able to call. Wouldn’t’ve thought that you’d want to, anyway, but.... I was free falling, Sammy. Spent a few days off my face in some motel room, figuring I’d just… I spent my whole life trying to keep the family together and you were so busy butting heads I stopped mattering. And then I just… started getting all my ducks in a row. Wasn’t thinking about why, it just… it felt like it was the logical next step._

_I’d already given up the lease on my flat and quit my job to find Dad. Had a couple of credit cards registered at Bobby’s address, so I paid them off and shut the accounts. Sold my laptop and gave the cash to some homeless guy. Made sure I was up to date on my motel bill. I was… I was gonna sell the impala. Was thinking I wouldn’t need her, after. I needed everything wrapped up. I dunno. I didn’t… I didn’t have a plan, exactly. But, uh, found someone who wanted to buy her. Decent price. We met and I just… I couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t have treated her right and if you tried to find me, you’d… you were supposed to have her, so I drove her to the storage unit in Palo Alto. I couldn’t send you the keys, cause you’d think it was just some… some plea for attention and I didn’t wanna put that on you. I couldn’t wait till… after, because I didn’t want you to know.. I couldn’t leave her in storage, cause when the fee stopped being paid they’d sell her on. So I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it, Sammy, but I’d cut off all my ties and I didn’t have a plan or a purpose or a person. So I got on a boat._

*

“Still up, kiddo?” Dean asks, rapping on the door of Charlie’s dorm room (somehow she wound up assigned a room to herself, which is ridiculous). She’s too engrossed in some TV show to respond, though, till Dean has to wave a hand in front of her laptop screen and frowning him.

“You’re up late,” Charlie says, unplugging her headphones.

“You hacked into the wifi, right?”

“First day on board,”

“Can I borrow your laptop?”

“Okay, but, only if you stick to the non-gross porn. No freaky stuff,”

“Okay, that is _not_ why I’m borrowing your laptop, but good to know you’re cool with the non-freaky stuff.”

“Girls gotta eat,” Charlie says, “You okay, Dean?”

He is the exact opposite of okay. He’s exhausted and wrung out and emotionally drained. He’s vulnerable and he feels like just carved his own chest open. His brain is fried. He wants to crawl into his bed and sleep for hours, but he doubts he’s gonna be able to. Chances are, he’ll end up awake all fucking night remembering every damn word he said in those voicemails, till he’s feeling shitty and crazy enough to flood his liver with alcohol till he can’t think about it anymore. He wants to do that anyway, but he can’t. He can’t.

He needs to get a hold of the wheel and start frigging steering somewhere. 

“No,” Dean says, “Just had a pretty crap conversation with my brother. I mean, voicemail leaving session.”

“Wanna watch some Game of Thrones?”

“Watch what now?”

“Just because you’re on a boat doesn’t mean you have to live under a rock. Slumber party time,” Charlie says, shifting over to make space for him, “We can start from the beginning.” 

It winds up being a better distraction than flirting with random strangers, even if it doesn’t work as well as whiskey, or vodka, or gin, or any other god forsaken spirit he could talk someone into giving him on this dumb ass boat. 

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_Hi Dean, I really want to talk to you, but I guess I'm beginning to get why you'd rather talk like this. I didn't know it was that bad, Dean. I didn't know. Dean. I didn't know. I didn't know that's how you felt - how I made you feel. I didn't, I just. It wasn't you. I didn't want to see Dad. I was so mad at him, Dean. I was so mad and you just... I know you tried. I know that now, but it felt like you'd chosen to stick it out with Dad because that was easier, even though it was bad for you. It was bad for you, Dean. He belittled you. He acted like you weren't capable, when you did everything when he wasn't around. He disowned me for going to college. You were acting like it was just some argument, but… that’s what he did, Dean. When I left I was so mad at you that I just… I didn’t tell my college friends much about you. When you visited it was… it had been so long and neither of us were talking about Dad. I know I acted like a… like a spoilt brat. I get why you didn't come back again and, Dean, you're right I... I didn't make space for you. I just... I was a dumb kid and I wasn't thinking about you, or Dad, or Bobby. I was just thinking about college and scholarships. It's so stupid, but I... when you came, I had a final. I had a final… and you turned up acting like I'd just been waiting for you to turn up and drag me off an adventure. And you were only there cause of Dad, and I... I didn't see you Dean. I was stuck in this tunnel vision when it was all about mine and dads fight, but it... I didn't know. I was so selfish and I had this dumb final and I just... you told me what to do and I rebelled and I'm so sorry Dean. I really want you go come home, but if you're not ready, I can deal. I can deal._

 _Dean you… you were the best brother, okay? I don’t think I even remember how much you did for me. There’s so much stuff that I have to thank you for. I was mad at you when I went to Stanford, but I didn’t call you cause I knew I’d miss you so much. And I thought you were gonna ask me to come home and it would be so easy to do that and I… couldn’t._

* 

“Cas lives in California, right?” Charlie asks, “But I thought it was San Jose.” 

“You read my google history?” Dean asks, leaning on the edge of the balcony and turning round to quirk an eyebrow at her. He’s not really surprised. It’s a hot, quasi-perfect day in small town France and it’s a little hard to care that Charlie stalked his use of her laptop, especially when the shoreline’s still in view and the Riviera is so goddamn beautiful. He forgets, occasionally, the perks of his job.

“You didn’t even _clear_ your history,” Charlie says, “Internet banking, emails, porn, a few google searches, porn. Not all that interesting. Then that _last_ search,”

“None freaky porn,” Dean corrects, “You’re the one who suggested the porn,”

“What’s in Palo Alto?”

“Sam,” Dean says, ”

“My second guess,”

“And my potential new therapist,”

“So you’re in?”

“Gonna email her. See if I can do skype therapy till… well. Sounds like sixteen different kinds of crap, but…. Turns out I can afford it and it turns out it’s doable on a damn ship. Yeah. Therapy. Fucking A.”

Charlie fist pumps his arm and starts talking about her progress on figuring out their travelling schedule. They’re pulling out of a port in Seyne-Sur-Mer on deck eighteen, with a poolside champagne reception just behind them and, for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel transient or fleeting. He’s not sure whether it’s the fact that he’s got Charlie shoulder to shoulder with him on the deck, or because Lisa finally makes sense to him, or that he knows he could call Bobby any time, or the news that, despite Sam’s posturing, Cas and him were definitely talking about him, or because he has the rumble of Sam’s last voicemail playing in his head.

It might just be all of it all at once, but it’s something. It’s a tangible something that’s tainting the moment of pulling away from everything, like the shore is starting to call him back. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Hey, Sam. Look. You didn’t know what was going on and you sure as hell didn’t know Dad was gonna take off. Don’t want you shouldering the blame for this. That’s the exact opposite of what I wanted. My head was in a bad place for a long time before all of that stuff went down, it was just the tipping point. It just… damnit, Sam, you’re allowed to have your own life. You were always allowed to have your own life. I shouldn’t have pinned my fucking happiness on you. That wasn’t your responsibility and you were never gonna… Sam, you couldn’t have won. I get you wanting to get away from Dad and the fighting and the pressure. I get that you needed to start over. I get it. And the dumb thing is, that’s always what I wanted for you. I wanted you to get to go to college and be frigging normal and have a fucking life, but then I couldn’t handle it. I’m working on it. I’m working on it._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Castiel. Please leave your message after the tone.

_Hey Cas. Sorry for calling. Guess I’m a hypocrite uh… so, look, I guess I’m calling cause I know you’ve been talkin’ to Sam and I was figuring you were… damnit, look, if you aint been thinking about what went down then just delete this whole thing now. If you’ve been hung up on it… I just wanted to explain some more. I was pretty damn honest with you but there was a couple of things I skipped over. Or I guess I hadn’t been thinking about it or, well, whatever it was, I just feel like I owe you a full explanation, here. Back when I was stateside, when Sam turned me out and Dad told me not to call, I was… I’m pretty sure I was... think I was gonna kill myself and then I ran away instead and I… I’m not there any more, at all, but I gotta take care of my mental personal, I don’t know, crap, before I can… yeah. It was actually my frigging car which stopped me. Couldn’t abandon her. S’why she was parked in Palo Alto. Anyway. Just, look. If talking to Sam is screwing with you, tell him where to stick it. He can be pretty single minded about stuff. You don’t have to call back. You probably shouldn’t. I don’t… I just wanted you to know, if you still cared I mean. Which you shouldn’t. Bye, Cas._

*

He wakes up in Italy to a text from Castiel which just says ‘your brother is taller than expected.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the good ship angsty Mcangst boast


	6. Chapter 6

_Holy crap, Cas, the colosseum is the shit_.

"Thirty minutes of frowning at your cell and that's what you came up with?" Charlie asks, "Dude."

"Quit reading my damn messages if you're gonna bitch about them." Dean mutters, hunching a little over his phone and blocking it from her view. Maybe Dean’s been thinking about frigging _Castiel_ all day and maybe he hadn’t answered the guy’s text yet and _maybe_ he spent the time they spent queueing in the vatican looking at a blank text message, but it does not mean he needs Charlie’s input.

Actually, Dean’s pretty sure what he needs is significantly less input about the Cas situation all round because he’s done with everyone’s ‘call him even though it’s a crappy idea’ rhetoric. He made a good call. He had no frigging idea that Cas was going to return to California and become best buddies with Dean’s goddamn brother and he _definitely_ didn’t know that Dean was going to out the most vulnerable, shitty part of himself and that Cas was just gonna accept it.

Castiel just... opened up the floor for conversation. Essentially invited Dean to start messaging about whatever, except Dean hadn’t. He’d spent two days getting his cell out to frown at the message in between drink orders and after sets and done nothing about it at all, until he was buzzed on the best day he’s had since Cas left dicking around in Rome with Charlie. And, like Cas said, Rome is awesome. It’s beautiful and full of history and sun and italian ice cream. He’d like to stay there for days and he’d kind of like Cas to be there when he did it.

"I wouldn't have to hack into your phone, if you _told me_ you were texting dreamy guy again."

"I ain't."

"Uhuh,"

" _One_ text doesn't mean I'm texting him. Okay, _technically_ , but it doesn't… doesn’t mean our texting is a thing,” Dean says, shifting on his train seat and staring at his cell. He’s not quite sure he believes he sent Cas some dumb text about the colosseum like they’re buddies who send casual text messages about crap like that. Dean’s an idiot. 

“What time is it in San Jose anyway?” Charlie says, “Reckon he’ll be asleep?”

“I don’t…” Dean begins, then stops short when his frigging phone vibrates. “Crap.”

“Dude!” Charlie grins.

“Shutup,”

“Never,” Charlie says, “This is such a great day,”

“Yeah,” Dean exhales, “It’s been pretty great.”

“You’re pretty great,” Charlie shoots back, thumbing through the pictures she took on her phone, “Read your text, Winchester.”

_And the pizza?_

Castiel has sent him a text message about pizza. Sure, it’s a reference to that dumb conversation they had in Malaga on their date thing, but it’s still about pizza. Frigging _pizza_.

“He text me about pizza,”

“Wow,” Charlie comments, “He’s actually worse than you,”

“I’m putting my headphones in,” Dean mutters, fixing his gaze out the window and watching the italian countryside fall away, with a vague attempt at trying to talk his heart into beating regularly again. He’s got a shift tonight and he wants to call Sam before then. He needs to get his crap together. 

By the time he’s worked up the courage to text back, they’re pretty much at Civitavecchia. _Hands down the best thing I've ever put in my mouth. Almost._ Dean sends, then regrets it almost immediately. It’s the exact opposite of a casual frigging text message, if that’s what they’re supposed to be doing. Cas makes him kind of crazy and he has not done this before. He needs some kind of manual. 

Cas’ reply comes through when they’re getting back on the boat. They’re going through the regular crew security and Dean doesn’t really want anyone nosing in on his messages. He pockets it without reading it instead.

When he gets to his cabin, he dumps his bag at the foot of his bed and sits down, cradling his phone in his hands.

_Are you there alone?_

Dean shouldn’t be frigging smiling so much, given Cas basically ignored his dumb ass message. _Was with Charlie. Chilling out with the Pope._

He’s still looking at his cell when the reply rolls in. 

_You had time to go to the Vatican City?_

_Booked a train for the second we docked. Been planning for a while._

_Did you have a good time?_

_Yeah. Thanks for the recommendation._

Cas sends him a smiley face, which is so dorky and dumb and a little wonderful that Dean doesn’t know how he could possibly come up with an adequate reply, so he leaves Sam a voicemail about italy instead.

It’s actually amazing that Dean has enough room in his head to freak out and get that fuzzy feeling over some guy he’s only known a couple of months. 

*

“Question,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, looking up from his book (he found Vonnegut in the ship library, which happens to be awesome and has improved his spare time a lot). They’re both off shift for the rest of the evening but he didn’t feel a whole lot like sitting in his bunk room and staring at the walls for once, so he wound up letting Charlie talk him into grabbing a couple of sun loungers on the pool deck to read in supposed silence. They’re surrounded by guests and Charlie’s drinking a frigging iced cocktail like they’re actually on vacation, here. He can still see the shore line in the distance and it’s almost impossible not to feel relaxed. He might just understand the appeal of these things, even if they’re pretentious.

“So, I tried to add you on facebook like a year ago,”

“Right,”

“And I’d be offended that you haven’t friended me yet, but your privacy settings suck and your whole facebook is pretty much a ghost town. I mean, I was pretty sure you were in witness protection,”

“What part of that is a question?”

“Can I tag you in our vacation pics on facebook?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Dean say, “Why would I care?”

“Cause your brother hasn't seen in you in like three years, maybe?” Charlie says, “That’s a whole different kind of complicated I didn’t want to overstep, you know? Cause he’d see them and you don’t look totally miserable in these pictures, which is good, but if he’s still… mad or something I don’t know. Plus I, um, think he tried to contact you on there, a lot. And maybe you should read that before you give me the go ahead.”

“He tried to contact me on facebook?” Dean asks, “Sam knows I barely use it,”

“Duh,” Charlie says, “You have like a hundred friends. It’s creepy. He was also pretty desperate to find you.” 

“Can I see?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, “There’s this top secret thing called _wifi_ ,”

“Here,” Dean says, digging his phone out of his jeans pocket and passing it across to her, “Hook me up,”

“Now?”

“Why not?” Dean asks, “I’m gonna get a coke. You wanna another douche colada?”

“I’m all set,”

“And stay out of my messages,” Dean says, before heading over to the bar, even though he hasn’t got a whole load of messages for her to hack into anyway. There’s a long wait because the frozen cocktails are only sold for another hour and frigging everyone is trigger happy and a little too determined to make their drinks package worth the money.

By the time he makes it back to Charlie, he’s a little irritated and the sympathetic expression Charlie fixes him with as she passes back his cell doesn’t help.

“Dean Winchester,” Charlie says, taking a sip of her cocktail, “Welcome to the twenty first century.”

It’s that exact moment he realises that _facebook_ is gonna be the first time he sees his brother for two years and it feels like a physical punch to the face.

It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t _happen_ like this.

His thumb is shaking as he types out 'S' and selects 'Sam Winchester' as the first option that comes up, which is an uncomfortable reminder about how often he'd scrolled through Sam's stupid page to find out what the hell he was even doing at college when the phone calls dried up. It loads pretty much instantly and then Dean's face to face with a new picture of his brother for the first time in nearly three years. It hurts like someone's ripped off one of his nails and Dean nearly throws the damn cell off the decking and into the ocean before he's properly taken it in. He's learnt from that shit storm, though.

Sam _looks_ older. He's grown his hair out. He's a fucking adult, now. When Dean left he was a dumb 22 year old kid doing his undergrad. Now he's 25. He's an adult with a stupid haircut and he's Dean's little brother and his responsibility and Dean missed all this time. His college graduation. Getting a full ride to do law at Stanford. Dean spent all of that time serving drinks on a fucking boat thousands of miles away because he had a mental breakdown and - 

"Dean," Charlie says.

"I gotta... I need to be alone for this." 

"Gotcha," Charlie says, as Dean stands up fast enough to tip over his coke. He doesn't even try to salvage it, or wait for the lift, taking the eight flights of stairs down to the staff bunks two at a time.

It's an immense relief when his roommate is somewhere else, anywhere else, and Dean gets to deal with this properly and actually alone. Dean sits down heavily on his bed and forces himself to scroll down Sam's page. 

Sam looks good. His hair’s fucking ridiculous, but he looks good. He doesn't post a lot. He gets tagged in less things than he used to, but there's a few almost familiar names.

Then there's a picture of Jess. Jessica Moore, with an arm flung over Sam's shoulders and a nerdy t-shirt on, and she's gorgeous and vibrant and Sam's smiling like he's so damn happy and this was taken _weeks_ before Dean called him. He's happy and she looks happy together and they _fit_. They live together and Dean's never even... he didn't know she existed. There's an option to 'view their relationship' that Dean's pretty sure didn't exist before, but he does it anyway, even though it's masochistic and hurts. He's rewarded by dozens of pictures and posts. There's a selfie of the two of them in Vegas. A picture of their 'fake christmas'. He's scrolls down far enough to find Jess' post about the moving in together. A post about their two year anniversary that was posted well over a year ago, which hurts like hell, because Jess was around before Dean disappeared and Dean didn’t know a damn thing about it. 

Then he stops short, because two years ago Jess shared Sam's post about his missing brother. There's a picture of him. Sam's emotions are bleeding all over the Internet about how he _wants Dean to come home_. It mentions their fight. Sam's publicly apologising and appealing for him to come home and it's been shared over and over and Dean was too locked up in his own thoughts to check.

There’s one of the guys in the storage who’ll slip him a bottle of vodka for twice the prices it’s worth which is probably gonna be his only option, since Pam has so determinedly cut him off. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave your message after the tone. 

_Hey Sammy. So uh, damnit, I went on facebook. Charlie’s got a bunch of pictures from Rome and wants to to post them, or whatever, so I… I was looking at your page and you… well you need a frigging haircut, Sam. You really need to get a haircut. Just, give me Jess’ number and I’ll talk to her and we’ll get it sorted out. If you’re being a real baby about it I’ll get her to cut it in your sleep. You won’t feel a thing. Jess looks awesome. I didn’t… so I guess I didn’t know she was around before I left. I know we weren’t exactly talking when I went off the radar but… you gotta know that I’d have always told you if there was someone significant around? I get it, Sam, you’re independent and you’re Sam Winchester and you don’t need anyone, but I just… you gotta keep me updated._

 _I saw the other stuff too. From when I left. I’m so… I didn’t mean to do it, Sam. I’ll make it to you. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I didn’t… didn’t exactly handle it well when I first saw it a couple of days ago, which is why I haven’t called. But I’m okay. I’m really fucking sorry, but I’m okay._

*

He texts Castiel again in Athens, sat in a cafe overlooking some super old temple that looks like a set from Gladiator that he kinda read about in the guidebook. Charlie’s on the boat (she’s hitting Athens when they’re back in two weeks) and he got the itch like he wanted to touch base with Cas.

_How fucking old is the Olympus?_

He finds the whole place a little incomprehensible because it’s so damn ancient. He’s spent most of the day wandering from a two thousand year old library squashed between a shopping streets with a frigging Hard Rock Cafe and the Acropolis. He’s hot and he’s spent way above his budget but it turns out that he’s earned a fair bit in the past two years of no bills and almost no expenses. 

_Very old, Dean_ Castiel texts back just after his tzatzikii has shown up. He’s ordered pretty much everything on the menu and regrets absolutely nothing, because he’s still got two and a half hours till he needs to back on the boat.

_\+ Greek food :D_

He doesn’t get another reply, but he feels pretty okay about that. Whatever it is they’re doing right now, Dean’s pretty sure he wants it to stay at just about this pace.

*

You have one new message.

_Hey Dean. Just… checking in. Rome sounds pretty great. Jess has gotten pretty into tracking your progress and I think she’s a couple of days away from bringing home some guide books. Maybe next summer. Maybe we… I mean, maybe we could come see you out there. If you want. So, uh, school’s just started back up for the undergrads and it’s pretty hectic. Workload is picking up. Bobby is gonna visit next week to check on Baby. Um. Dean…. About your last message. About facebook. I deleted all that stuff from before. I should have deleted it a long time ago, I just… well, it’s gone. And I’d really like to see your vacation pictures, Dean, Bobby too. We haven’t seen you for a long time and… you should get Charlie to tag you in them. And Jess. I didn’t…. I didn’t even know you didn’t know about Jess. It wasn’t… we hadn’t talked in awhile and it was new and I guess I didn’t know you wanted me to call you and tell you I was dating someone. That’s not an excuse and… not being able to tell you all this stuff for the last few years has made me realise how much I missed telling you things, Dean. You… you always had my back, Dean, and...I’m sorry too. And there’s nothing wrong with my hair, jerk._

*

Charlie’s on shift serving coffee when Dean finds her to give the facebook go ahead, feeling weirdly cheerful about the whole thing. He’s accepted her year old friendship request along with a bunch of other crew staff members who bothered to find him and has even gone as far as making some wisecrack remark on the last thing Sam posted on facebook, too, like everything’s normal and they’re okay and they’re not rebuilding everything from the ground up. 

She’s inordinately excited about the whole thing and names the whole album after something Dean’s pretty sure is some kind of nerdy reference.

Apparently, at some point in the past two years (and maybe between the time Sam told Bobby his dumb travel pictures might be going online) Bobby Singer got facebook. 

*

You have one new message. 

_Hey Dean! Just saw your pictures. Jess is freaking out over the colosseum and the italian pizza. It was so good to see you, Dean, and you look like you were having a really great day. I listened to your last message a couple more times… I just, it’s a little surreal, I guess. You were gone for a long time and now you leave me voicemails, but I was thinking. Is Cas significant? Because if… if he’s really significant and that’s why you told me about him then you should… you should call him. I don’t think he’s seeing anyone. Anyway, just calling cause we’re going through your pictures of Athens. Have a good day, Dean._

* 

He’s not going to call Cas, because that would be a terrible idea, but it feels slightly less terrible to stare at his phone in the middle of the frigging night and send Cas a message because he should have just gotten home from work (according to the California world clock he’s saved onto his lock screen).

_Tips for Salerno? Docking tomorrow._

He’s not sure why it surprises him that Castiel is so good at texting back, but it does, especially when it’s four AM in the middle of the ocean and it feels like no one else in the world is awake. Honestly, he’s not doing great. He wants a drink. He wants to do something dumb. He wants to scroll back through years and years of pictures and moments he’s missed of Sam’s life but he committed to this, so he’s gonna frigging do it. He’s gonna fix his head and his life and every single one of the relationships he sunk. 

_Full day or half?_

_Full. No Charlie._

_Pompeii. Leave early and get the train. Bring lunch with you if possible._

It’s a little further afield then he was intending to go, but it’s doable. He can wrangle some lunch if he sweet talks someone into the kitchen. He _feels_ like he wants to hide from the world and stay in bed, but…

He wants to get better at this. He needs to get better at this. 

_And get some sleep, Dean_

He falls asleep staring at the guy’s message feeling oddly pleased that Cas thought to look up the timezone. 

*

As it turns out, Cas is a hundred percent right about Pompeii. He’s never exactly been nerdy about history - and, honestly, there’s not a whole lot he even knows about European history except there’s a helluva lot of it - but it’s all kind of incredible and Sam would lose his shit over it. He’s almost tempted to call him on the spot and tell him to meet him out here _now_.

_Holy hell, man, those are some perfectly preserved dead people houses._ Dean sends to Castiel, partially just because Dean wants the guy to know that he’s following his advice. He wants him to know that Dean’s not rotting away in the cabin of his boat but that he’s doing better, without ever actually saying that he’s doing better. 

_I found it historically very interesting. It really helped me to visualise the lifestyle of the ancient Romans_.

_Did you get the audio guide?_

_Yes_

_Nerd._

Charlie freaks out over his pictures when he gets back on the ship and uploads them to their dumb facebook photos album immediately. There’s a bunch of Charlie’s photos from her solo excursions to Naples and Florence with a few dozen likes (not that Dean really understands what that means) and either Sam or Jess commenting on nearly every other one.

It’s a little dumb, but he winds up spending the rest of the evening thumbing through them all on repeat, reminding himself over and over that he’s _moving forward_ these days, rather than just moving.

*

You have reached the mailbox of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. __

 _Dude, you have got to go to Pompeii on your big Europe trip. I got no idea if Jess is nerdy like you, but I figure she must be to deal with you, but even if she’s not… so there was this fucking huge volcano explosion like a million years ago and when it hit, it really hit, and there’s this whole civilisation preserved. Like you can see their frigging bakers and their gardens and the crap they did for shits and giggles and it’s all like…. Completely preserved. So you’re walking through this whole city that’s been buried for a thousand years and it’s like… you can see it. You can totally get how they must have lived. I guess it’s kind of sad cause, damn, volcano aint the blaze of glory you’d pick to go out in, but it’s so frigging interesting and I think you’d totally get off on it. Jess’d probably get fed up of you geeking out over all of it but, yeah, you should go. And, look, Sammy. I didn’t tell you about Cas for any other reason than he was the only thing going on in my life. He’s awesome but I’m pretty sure you’re the one having significant conversations with him right now, not me, so drop it._

*

A guy named Aaron is hitting him at the dumb LGBT meet and greet thing scheduled for the first night of the cruise. They’re down for week long cruises for the almost-end of the season which at least means that Dean only has to deal with this guy for the next seven nights before he’s off, because…. Because suddenly he feels super uncomfortable about it.

It’s strange. It’s not like Dean has a problem with dudes hitting on him, or even guests hitting on him. It’s pretty much been part of the territory for day one and, given he’d declared himself as bisexual two minutes ago, it’s not a total surprise for this guy to turn his attention on him.

And yet he’s got no idea what to do with the situation. 

“Sorry, folks, Dean’s taken,” Charlie says, arriving with Aaron’s drink with a smile. 

“Uh,” Dean says, forehead folding into a frown, because… he’s the exact opposite of taken. 

He’s not tied down to anything at all, except a couple of voicemail exchanges with his almost-estranged brother. He’s not _taken_. 

“Sounds like it,” Aaron says, at which point Dean realises that Charlie is just trying to bail him out and Dean just kicked himself in the foot. 

“Trust, he’s spoken for,”

“Charlie,”

“No, really,” Charlie says, pulling Dean’s cell out of his pocket and unlocking it with a flourish, like he hasn’t changed the password three times since Charlie started this whole thing. “Message Dean from yesterday: Dublin not as fun without you. Southampton _definitely_ \- in capitals - less fun without you. At least we’re only docked for a day this time.”

“Charlie,”

“Message Cas: I am sure you would improve any location.” 

“Give,” Dean mutters, flushing as he takes the damn thing and pockets his cell again, because she just had to pick the least casual text messages they’ve exchanged since Cas left the boat for her to read out. Even if she is, technically, helping him out.

“This, from an individual that Dean ‘isn’t texting’. He’s definitely spoken for.”

“But he’s not right here?” Aaron asks, quirking up an eyebrow.

Dean realises with a jolt that, even if the guy wasn’t a guest, Dean is the exact opposite of interested. It’s a different not interested to the default he’s been existing in the most of the past two years but it pretty much amounts to exactly the same thing. Not interested at all.

*

You have one new message.

_Hey, Dean. Glad you’re having fun. Bobby came up this week and touched up Baby. He said she’s running great. I played him your messages about Pompeii and Rome. He says you’re an idjit for ‘going on a damn holiday for two years and not sending a postcard’ but he was just being Bobby. I think there might be something going on with him and Ellen. You know Dad’s old friend who runs the Road House? Jo, that girl with a thing for you, her mom? I’ll keep you updated. I noticed you pretty much omitted to answer whether we could come see you in Europe at some point. We’ve started saving up but it’s… we’re both in grad school. It’ll take a while. You should… have some more time. We’re not just going to show up on your boat, or ship, or whatever Cas said we should call it out of the blue. I get that you need time, Dean, I just don’t know how much time you need. I really wished you’d let me answer your calls, Dean, I just want to...well, let me know if you don’t want us to come._

*

“Charlie,” Dean asks, whilst he’s grabbing a drink between shifts. Last cruise the reviews of his thing skyrocketed and now he’s been scheduled onto double singing shifts, which suits him just fine, because they’re generally at times when all the guests are on the boat. It works out that it’s easier to get off the ship during the day when there’s not a lot going on. “So, uh, what are you running from?”

It occurred to him a few nights ago that he’d never asked. He’s been so goddamn consumed with Sam and his Dad that he barely noticed the rest of the world was happening. He was blind sighted enough by all of it to take a running leap into solitary confinement rather than go to Bobby and he was self-centred enough that he never considered the fact that he’s not the only one with a backstory. He got it from Lise. He got it from Cas. He never asked about Charlie. 

“Adulthood,” She grins, but there’s something a little purposeful about it, like she’s trying too hard. She has a story. Smart, funny, likeable people like Charlie don’t decide to bartend on cruise ships without there being a story. 

“Really,”

“The law,” Charlie says, then glances down at her hands, looking a lot more serious than Dean’s used to seeing her look. “There was an accident when I was nine. My parents… she was in a coma. Fifteen years. I just… I couldn’t. Until, I could. So I turned off the life support machine, except then I couldn’t again, but it was already done. So,”

“So you got on a boat,”

“Yeah,” Charlie nods, “I got on a boat. And now I’m seeing the world. It’s an adventure, with a lot of coffee serving, but still.”

“You gonna go back?” Dean asks.

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Soon, I think.” 

“Good,” Charlie says, “You should.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees.

“Adventures aren’t as fun as I thought they’d be,” Charlie says, shoulder’s squaring a little, “But it sure beats running away.”

*

_Toulon?_

_Yep. Working though so no french food for me :(_

_Have you considered seducing a guest so they bring it to you?_

_Day 4 of the cruise, Cas, give me time._

_You had me by day 2._

_Dude._

*

You have one new message.

 _Dean, come on. Answer your damn phone._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester.

_Hey, Sammy, so I’m floating off the coast of Dubrovnik. We don’t come out by Croatia too often, so it’s pretty sweet me and Charlie both got the day off. It’s a gorgeous stretch of coast, Sam. White buildings and red roofs, just sticking out into this blue, blue ocean. Dunno if I ever cared a whole lot about the sea before I got on this frigging boat, but I guess two years getting my sea legs have changed me. Maybe I wanna be somewhere near the sea long term. Definitely not somewhere as landlocked as frigging Kansas. Anyway, I was thinking about some of the stuff you said. About my always having your back. Then I was thinking about the first time you talked about college. Dunno if you remember it, but it was this Thursday night and I’d cooked burgers and you and Dad were both in pretty good moods. It was this unusually good evening and I remember feeling pretty good about it. I guess you figured it’d be a good time to talk about it, cause everyone was pretty happy. So you just come out and say ‘so I’ve been looking at colleges’ and it was like you’d told Dad you were gonna take a torch to the impala. He was silent and then he just… he told you you weren’t going to college. And you said, yeah, Dad, I’m going to college. And he told you it wasn’t a discussion. And you said you knew that it wasn’t a discussion, cause you were going to college. You were fighting about it so fast and I was… damnit, Sam, I was so pissed off at you for screwing with a perfectly good evening. It’d been a rough time. I was just trying to keep the peace, so I told you to drop it, and I remember how you looked at me. I knew right then I’d totally blown it. That you weren’t gonna talk to either of us about it again and instead of… talking to you about it later, I got mad at you for going about it all wrong. But you tried. I get why you didn’t try and talk to us about it again. To me and Dad. I wanted you to go, Sam, but I… I wanted you to want to keep the peace so damn bad, that I never stopped to think about the fact that there was a bigger argument about you going to college than me dropping out of school. I didn’t have your back, Sam. I should’ve done, but I didn’t. I think I’m doing better, though. Sorry it took me a while to call.. Been thinking about some stuff. Talk soon._

*

You have one new message.

_Yeah, I remember that evening pretty well. They were mozarella burgers. You even went to the shop and got salad to put on my burger to ‘shut me up’ and you cooked the chips from scratch. We’d been there for three months and we’d just moved out of a motel into an apartment, so you were christening the kitchen. They were amazing burgers. I’d been sat on it for a few weeks and it… things were good, calm, it seemed like a good time. I get why you were annoyed, Dean. We’d, me and Dad, we’d been arguing and you were trying to fix everything. You’d got us the apartment. You’d got all the groceries in. You were driving me to school between your shifts to give Dad some more time and all you wanted from us was one good evening. You wanted us to marathon watch Star Wars after dinner but I said something dumb about homework and Dad said he had to do some work. You were trying so hard, Dean, and we just…. Weren’t. Yeah, I was pissed that you didn’t defend me. I was really pissed, Dean, and that’s… that’s part of why I didn’t talk to you about it again, but I knew I could. I knew you wanted me to go to college, Dean, I just… I wanted to do it on my own. To prove myself to Dad. I thought that If I got in and got funding that… that he’d half to be pleased and I think he was, but I was trying to make a statement and I made it too well and it… Dean, you had my back. I know you did. And I really want to come to Europe in the summer and see you. Bobby loved his postcard, by the way. Call me._

*

They are, Charlie declared earlier this evening, celebrating. Dean’s not entirely sure he knows what they’re celebrating, except for the fact that he spoke to one of the manager’s today and managed to drop all of his bartending shifts altogether, so now that all he does is sing for money. It’s not exactly where he saw his life headed but the money’s good and it gives him time to deal with the rest of his bullcrap. Not being at the bar is gonna help with a lot of stuff, too, even if it can’t be long time; bartending at a fancy joint is probably all he’s gonna be able to pick up, work wise, when he gets back to California. For now, though, he can avoid it.

He’s getting there. This past week, he’s been feeling halfway decent. He’s started making plans. Mostly they’re for the next few weeks - Malta with Charlie, Rhodes alone - but some of them stretch a little further into the future. He’s called Bobby a few times. He’s been doing the weekly skype therapy, which is kind of bullshit, even if he can’t deny he needs it. He’s been drinking a lot less, even if there’s been a few slip ups. He’s feeling like he could almost walk back into Sam’s life and not destroy it all, he just wants to be sure. He just needs to make sure he’s rebuild himself before he walks back into something that could destroy him all over again.

“Back in a second,” Charlie says, smiling at one of the waitresses she’d been flirting with earlier, before she’s stood up and crossing the room, which makes it much easier to send illicit texts to Cas cause his general standpoint is still that they’re not in communication, even if that’s not exactly true. __

_You or your brother's ever go to that grill you have to sell your soul for?_

Time has slipped by in the medium of four different cruises, till it’s been over a month since Cas first text him, and now they’re just about texting every other day. It’s usually menial stuff that occasionally deviates into flirting, but that’s it. They haven’t spoke about anything real. They haven’t mentioned Sam. They haven’t mentioned the bombshell Dean dropped. It’s all been about food and Europe and the weather and Cas always texts him back in record time for someone in a completely different timezone. 

_Yes. I had the steak._

Of course Cas went to the fancy ass restaurant on board, like the fact that all food’s included wasn’t good enough for his super rich brothers (maybe he and Charlie are doing the same, but technically they’ve been eating from the same restaurant for over a year and it gets old pretty quick). 

_It's exactly the goddamn same as the other restaurant, except the I can't pronounce the crap they put in my sauce._

He can imagine Cas smiling at that.

_If you haven't ordered desert yet, I suggest the Tiramasu._

_Gourmet apple pie?_

_Pie shouldn't he gourmet. It should be pie._

_Preach. What are you up to?_

_Gabriel set me up on a date without my foreknowledge._

It takes him a little bit of time to process that. He’s sat on a boat somewhere on the way to Malta celebrating him quitting the crapper part of his job with Charlie, texting Cas, whilst he’s on the other side of the world on a frigging date. A _date_.

_You're on a date right now?_

Dean sends back, before he’s had a chance to police himself. It probably sounds a helluva lot like he’s accusing the guy of something, which he isn’t. Dean’s the one that told Cas to lose his number, almost. Dean was the one who said he wasn’t going to call. He didn’t take any of that back. He just… extended an olive branch because he was emotionally messed up and he had this feeling like Cas might still be thinking about all of it. It doesn’t mean he gets to care that Cas is on a date.

_Yes._

Charlie comes back from chatting up the waitress (there’s so many frigging staff on this ship, Dean’s entirely sure he’s never seen her before) looking smug enough that she’s definitely getting laid tonight.

“What’s Castiel up to?” Charlie asks, nodding at his cell.

“Date,” Dean says, before realising that means he’s already given Charlie more information than he meant to. He’d been trying to keep the whole sporadic messaging thing on the downlow, given he’d pretty much banned Charlie from disagreeing with him that the whole don’t-call-me-thing was a good idea (it wasn’t a bad idea, it’s just Dean sucked at the follow through). He hits send on ‘ _And it’s going that well that you’re texting me?_ ’ message because he’s pretty sure that sounds neutral and non-judgemental. 

“Seriously?”

“Charlie, we’re not… together. Dude can do what he likes.”

“Right. Except you won’t,”

“I’m on a frigging boat. Dating opportunities are limited.” 

“Please,” Charlie says, waggling the back of their bill at him, where there’s a series of numbers scribbed on the back.

“Sorry to bust your bubble, Bradbury, but you’re a few numbers short of the full package there.”

“It’s her staff stateroom number, genius,”

“Shut up,” Dean says, picking his cell up as another message from Cas rolls in. 

_Dean, I think she might be deeply unbalanced_. 

“So Cas is on a date,”

“A bad date,” Dean corrects.

_Do you need me to call you with a family emergency?_

“A bad date,” Charlie repeats, “He talk about dating before?”

“Charlie, we haven’t been talking that much,” Dean says, as Cas sends him a single question mark.

_Classic method of getting out of dates. I call you and tell you you need to bail Gabriel out of jail._

_Please_.

“Gotta save the guy,” Dean says, picking up his cell.

“But your pie,”

“Get it in a doggy bag for me. Or eat it. Whatever,” Dean says, standing up and hitting call. “You know how much bad dates suck, Charlie,”

Cas picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

Holy hell, it sounds so good to hear his voice. It’s deep and fucking gorgeous, all gravely and serious, and Dean had definitely forgotten how much he liked the guy until he heard his dumb voice. He is so, so screwed. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, “Bad news for you, buddy, Gabriel’s been abducted by aliens,”

“Is he… okay?” Castiel says, voice stilted, because the guy is absolutely the worst at lying without a cue. The fact that they half managed a secret relationship on the boat is nothing short of a minor miracle.

“Yep,” Dean grins, “Reckon he’s having a good time, actually.”

“Where?”

“Uranus,”

“I’ll be right there,” Castiel says, which is hilarious, frankly. “Daphne, I have to… this is an emergency.” 

“Convincing,” Dean says, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the top deck, cell phone wedged under his ear, “Hey,”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, “Where are you?”

“Halfway to Malta,” Dean says, “The middle of the fucking ocean. The usual,”

“You sound good,”

“You too, man,” Dean exhales, reaching the top deck in record time (the nice restaurants have the best views and are on the upper decks), before leaning on railing. “So good. I don’t remember you sounding this good. I mean, uh… are you good?”

“I’m good, Dean,”

“Except your crappy date,”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “I have never experienced being simultaneously bored and alarmed in such a… damnit.. Dean, I forgot to pay.” He laughs out loud at that, the sea wind snatching it away before he can really appreciate it. “This is your fault. Why would you mention Uranaus?” 

“You’re the one who said you’d be right there, sunshine, if anyone was being inappropriate,”

“You’re hilarious I’m sure,”

“Damn right,”

“I should go back and pay,”

“Cas, you just feigned an oscar winning emergency. You can’t go back. Send the money via Gabriel if he’s the one who set you up,”

“This involves repeating this chain of events to Gabriel,” Cas says, clearly frowning on the other end of the phone line, “At least it might discourage a reattempt. How are you, Dean?”

“Okay,” Dean says, “Pretty good, actually. Been hanging out with Charlie,”

“I saw,”

“Huh?”

“Sam commented on her facebook album and it appeared in my feed,”

“Right, I forget you guys are all buddy buddy now,” Dean says, “Dude, you have my brother on facebook?”

“And you have very inadvisable privacy settings,” Cas says, “I was fully able to access all of the information about your location and personal details,”

“So you facebook stalked me,”

“I… yes,”

“Awesome,” Dean exhales, “You don’t feel like you’re a few thousand miles away right now. At all.” 

“I was glad you called me,”

“You shouldn't be,” Dean says, “but I, yeah, I’m glad you’re glad.” 

“Good,”

“So, this date, huh,”

“Gabriel is very persistent about his design on my life materialising,” Castiel says, as Dean closes his eyes and lets Cas’ eyes wash over him a little more. “I assure you, dating Daphne is very far down on the list of things I want do,” 

“But, uh, you could, if you wanted to. We’re not… barely anything,”

“It would be much more convenient if that were true,”

“I get that,” Dean says, “That’s… I was trying to make things convenient for us. For me… but for you too. But, uh… I miss you.”

“Oh,” Cas says, voice sounded a little wounded, then there’s nothing. Silence. 

“Would it, uh, be okay if I called you sometimes? I mean, not when you’re on a frigging date, but just… sometimes.”

“I don’t know,” Cas says, “Dean, this hasn’t… this hasn’t been very good for me,”

“Okay,” Dean says, lump settling at the back of his throat, slamming his eyes shut, “Whatever you want,”

“In this scenario, there is no way to get what I want,” Cas says, voice laced with irritability. “Your brother is an admirable person, Dean.”

“Yeah, Sam’s awesome,” Dean says, “And he’s looking after my baby.”

“I’m glad,”

“Cas,”

“Yes,” Cas says, “I think I would like it if you called me. Particularly when I am not on any kind of date.” 

“Well, pre-warn me if you’ve got any hot dates,” 

“I am sure that won’t be necessary,” Cas says, and he’s smiling now, Dean can tell. “May I call you?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, gripping the railing right, “I’ll even frigging answer.”

They talk for about another hour which is utterly ridiculous given Dean’s cell was on an international waters network and has probably cost him a small fortune. It's worth it for having the memory of Cas' voice reverberating round his skull the whole night, though. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. 

_So...I think Cas might be significant and I think I’ve already screwed it up completely. Good times._


	7. Chapter 7

You have one new message.

_Hey. So I know you're talking to Cas again. You called him when we were getting lunch. He’s based at Stanford a couple of days a week for this new temp research job and his cell started ringing. He was kind of cagey about it, which I’m guessing is because he knew we still haven’t talked. Whatever, just Dean, last time I checked you swore you weren’t talking to the guy at all. How does that turn into Cas being significant and you calling him? I’m glad you’re having an epiphany because I think Cas is great but… I get that a lot of stuff happened and that I hurt you but… how come Cas is allowed to answer your calls?_

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Sam, you told me to call the guy. You can’t get mad at me for following your advice, especially when it’s working out totally crappy, by the way. Pretty sure that Cas was a lot more into this thing when I was acting like I didn’t give a damn. Considering how pissed the guy got when I told him we were done in Southampton he’s not exactly enthusiastic about me calling now. Whatever. Look, sorry about the bad timing. Not trying to rub in your face that I’m not ready to call you properly yet. Obviously I wouldn’t have called if I knew you were having frigging lunch – which is totally weird by the way. If I haven’t made it clear that I find it frigging bizarre that you and Cas hang out before this point; it’s weird. Whatever. And about Cas. It’s just different, Sam. I’m not juggling sixteen different kinds of emotions when I’m talking to Cas, trying to work out of I’m angry or wounded or guilty or just plain fucking sad when I think about everything. I’m getting there. I know you’re projecting cause you’re jealous about Bobby’s postcards, anyway, so I picked you up this fucking awful thing from Alicante. It’s in the post._

*

They’re on a frigging tourist bus in Barcelona (so much Charlie’s idea Dean can’t even express it) and Charlie’s getting excited about wifi, like they don’t get that for free on the damn ship thanks to Charlie’s hacking anyway, when it hits him that he misses America. He misses the crappy motels and apartments and the road trips that go on forever. The dumb confidence that anyone can work themselves out of anything. The burger joints. The fucking news channels. He’s pretty sure he’s hankering for sitting in Bobby’s dusty scrap yard with a beer and listening Bobby to complain about everything. He misses Sam’s weird health kicks and his little brother’s independent defiance. He misses his car. He really, really misses his baby; her smell, the feel of her, sitting behind the wheel and processing. 

Admittedly, he’s spent more time in the Midwest than California, but it’s the most logical place for him to relocate too. He wants it. He really wants the reassurance of American soil and illogical gun laws and backwards politics and rednecks and terrible adverts. He wants brash American humour and American fries and the accents and frigging all of it. 

“Charlie,” Dean says, through a lump in the back of his throat. In front of them, a family are posing for a photo at the front of this crappy tourist bus. The couple behind have been passionately talking over the audio recording about Barcelona’s sights. Every other person in the vicinity is on vacation, whilst Dean’s just been drifting for years. They all came here on purpose. They saved up money and planned and booked hotels and bought tourist maps and Dean’s here because this is where the boat moored up and because Charlie Bradbury can be damn persuasive. He didn’t know a single thing about Barcelona until he wound up here the first time. “Charlie, I want to go home.” 

“Then let’s get you there,” Charlie says, standing up to take a picture of the coast line fading away from them, the beginning of Barcelona’s city scape filling in the gap. 

*

You have one new message. 

_Dean, you wrote ‘Sam needs to get a haircut’ eleven times on my postcard. Along with ‘from Dean’. Why waste the money on posting a cartoon picture of a half-naked girl and a beach anyway? Great. Look. I was in a bad mood when I called last week. Obviously I want you to call Cas. I knew the whole thing about you not talking was crap, anyway. And I’m pretty sure Cas didn’t just lose interest. Dean, he delivered the car keys to the impala to me the morning after he got back and he was… I know I said we didn’t talk about you, but we did a bit. Not a lot. The guy barely knew me until I started grilling him about how you were doing…. but I could tell he was pretty, uh, hung up on you I guess. You can just tell. Jess said the same. It’s probably just the time zone thing. Call me. Oh and, Dean, I know you were kind of doing the postcard thing for Bobby as a joke but I’m pretty sure he’s put all of them up on the fridge. Keep sending them._

*

He’s feeling weirdly nostalgic enough to show up backstage at Lisa’s show just to watch all the chaos happen. They’re a good dance crew. The shows are mostly good, actually, even if he knows the hypnotist is a hoax and he got bored of the comedian’s jokes the second show-bartending gig he did. He watches the late and early performances of the dance-singing-acrobatic hybrid show and tries to ignore the fact that some of the other performers are staring at him as he waits for her to be done. They’re all frigging gossips and there’s not a whole lot to report about why Dean’s suddenly showed up here again after a good six months’ absence, but they’re a creative lot. He’s sure they’ll fill in the blanks with something dramatic. 

“Hey,” Lisa says, eyeing him suspiciously as she emerges in her normal clothes. 

“You wanna get a drink?” 

“Not a date,” 

“Not a date,” Dean confirms, “It’s been a while,” 

“Okay,” Lisa says, pulling her bag further up her shoulder, “You lead the way.” 

They wind up at one of mid-deck bars because it’s quiet enough for them to actually have a conversation and cheap enough that most of it’s covered in their crew package plus a reasonable top up. He orders whiskey, straight, which is probably a bad idea, but something about the fact that he’s actually made the decision now is sitting heavily in his stomach. He’s going to quit this dead end job and buy a plane ticket to California. He wasn’t worked out even a little of the logistics, but he’s gonna do it. 

“Think I’m gonna get out of here,” Dean says, after a few minutes of them not talking and Dean drinking his whiskey too fast. “Get back to my brother.” 

“Good,” Lisa says, fierce, determined, and then she orders another drink. 

*

_Toulon again. My life is an endless tourist route. Save me, Cas._

_Yes, Dean, that tends to be how cruise ships make their wares._

_I’ll make your wares. Or something. You free later to talk?_

_Yes._

*

“California,” 

“Maybe,” Dean says, turning over his top card, “I don’t wanna cramp Sam’s style or invade his life or anything.” 

“There comes a time,” Charlie says, “When you need to invade,” 

“Sure,” Dean says, “This is still pretty delicate battle ground, Charlie.” 

“So you’re gonna ask him?” 

“No,” Dean says, turning over another card and nearly jumping out of his skin when Charlie slams her hand down on the cards. 

“Snap, bitches,” Charlie says, gathering up the pile with a grin. The game is completely juvenile and they’re only really playing to make this whole evening feel a little less like Dean spilling his guts for them both to dissect. Charlie runs a pointed finger over her significantly larger pack of cards. “So, you’re not asking Sam.” 

“I’m gonna ask his girlfriend,” 

“Jess,” 

“Dude, you’ve met me. Sam ain’t gonna say if he don’t want me within the state lines cause he’s scared I’m gonna go full self-destruct if he pulls a wrong move. I gotta go through Jess and hope she’s cool enough to answer straight and not tell Sam until I tell Sam,” 

“Okay, but,” Charlie says, “You are going to tell Sam, right? Because I know your game Winchester,” 

“Charlie, I’m gonna tell Sam,” 

“And then you’re gonna tell Cas,” 

“Nope,” 

“Dean,” 

“Snap,” Dean says, as Charlie continues to send him _a look_ which means she’s the opposite of impressed with his bullcrap, “Sounds like a great plan, Charlie. Hey, we had a three day fling two months ago and now we text sometimes. Oh and, by the way, I’m moving _five thousand miles_ and happen to be winding up living next door to you but, no worries, this decision has nothing to do with you. No pressure.” 

“Okay, I get that can be misconstrued,” Charlie says, “But Cas knows about Sam and he knows you’re not going to stay on this boat forever. Ergo, logically –“

“ – Charlie, I didn’t exactly hint I was thinking about heading stateside and I sure as hell didn’t say I’d be gunning for Palo Alto if I did. Pretty sure he does think I’ll be retiring on this damn boat.” 

“But _why_?”

“Because the guy gets over attached! Those few days were feeling pretty frigging serious and if I acted like I was gonna be pitching up in CA then he’d…”

“Not give up and start dating other people?” 

“He ain’t dating other people,” Dean says, “And I didn’t… I didn’t _know_ then,” 

“Yes,” Charlie says, “And now you do!” 

“Snap,” Dean says, sourly, pulling the stack of cards towards him with a frown. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Hey Sammy. So, uh, two things. First, full disclosure, I messaged Jess about some stuff I gotta sort out. Totally above board but yeah, don't get weirded out if you see me messaging her. Second, uh. So I was thinking next time I call you should pick up and we should talk. Ain't a trick or anything, just think it's time. Okay. Good talk._

*

It’s only because Venice is genuinely fucking beautiful that Charlie manages to talk him into the goddamn gondola and only because everything has been so terrifying and a little wonderful that she manages to talk him into calling Cas from their gondola. He kind of figured that Cas wouldn’t pick up, anyway, given that for someone who seems to instantly be able to text back, Cas sure as hell isn’t that good at answering the phone. Plus there’s the fact that the world clock saved on his lock screen is screaming that it’s 6am and Dean remembers how much Cas loves sleep. 

Castiel answers with a sleepy grunt of ‘yes?’ 

“Hey Cas,” Dean says, as Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. Dean forgets that they haven’t actually met so she’ll never have heard his frigging voice before. “Guess where I am?” 

“Somewhere where it’s an acceptable time of day to be awake?” Cas suggests, voice rough but totally lacking in bite. “You told me you were in Italy.” 

“Venice,” Dean says, “On a mother fucking gondola. This is officially the most expensive twenty minutes of my life. Shut up, Charlie.” 

“And you’re adding to the expense via a transatlantic phone call,” 

“Yeah, well, they’re supposed to be all romantic and crap, so Charlie cohered me into calling you.” 

“Dean, nothing is romantic before ten AM,” 

“Preach,” 

“And I’m sure the effect is more palpable when both parties are actually there,” 

“You getting up?” Dean frowns, because he can hear the guy moving. 

“Yes,” 

“Dude, you don’t have to do that. Go back to sleep, Cas.” 

“But… you’re on the phone,” Castiel says, sounding adorably bewildered. Dean can just picture the exact crease in his brow and the frigging pout. Goddamn, he’s gone on Cas. He really, really is. 

“I can hang up,” Dean says, “Sleep, you hear me? And call me later.” 

“Yes,” Cas says and Dean hangs up feeling like he’s got some fragile, fluttering, living something in his rib cage. He folds his hands over his cell phone and looks out over the rows of bridges spanning the two streets and the water cutting the town into jigsaw pieces. 

“Wow,” Charlie says, smirking in his direction. 

*

You have one new message. 

_Dean, hey, guess you're actually not there right now. Waiting for your call._.

*

“Did you call me this morning or was that a dream?” 

“And Charlie says you’re the dreamy one,” Dean says, wedging his cell phone under his ear and adjusting Charlie’s laptop across his knees. He’s been burning through his savings at an alarming rate compared to the past couple of years but he’s still got enough left that he’s got enough to last him for a while longer and a flight home. The issue comes if he’s gotta put up a deposit on a flat someplace too. Staring at his online banking isn't gonna make a difference. “Yeah, I called you.” 

“Did you enjoy Venice?” 

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, “Less period drama rom com cheese than I figured they’d be and I’m pretty sure Italian coffee has ruined me forever, so. We got so frigging lost, Cas. The maps make no sense. I mean half the damn bridges on the map didn’t exist and there were hundreds of extra bridges. Every building looks exactly the same. I swear, we could’ve been walking round the same block for an hour and I wouldn’t know for sure,” Dean says, before forcing himself to shut up. Cas just hums in response, though, which is a pretty… well, about what he’s come to expect. He gets shining moments of Cas breaking through – like earlier – and the rest of crappy nothing replies and the feeling that he isn’t really listening. “Sam says you’re working a new research gig at Stanford,” 

“My previous contract ended,” 

“You didn’t mention it,” Dean says, shutting Charlie’s laptop to just listen. “I mean, not that you had to tell me or whatever, you just…. Didn’t mention it.” 

“I know,” Cas says, “I’ve been busy,” 

“Okay,” Dean says, “How’s Gabriel?” 

“Tiresome and probably right,” 

“Brothers, huh?” Dean says, tucking his cell more securely under his ear, “Cas, uh, - “

“ – I need to go, Dean, my research supervisor is calling. I’ll speak to you later.” 

“Okay,” Dean tells the dial tone and resists the urge to throw the damn thing at the wall. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Hey, guess I missed you. Had a pretty shitty few days, actually, so I’m gonna call you again when my head’s in a better place. Well, no, they weren’t shitty. Most of it was pretty great. Just freaking out about some stuff. Whatever, you don’t need to know about this. Okay, Sam, keep your phone on. I’ll call you soon. Pick up, you hear me._

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_I was in the shower. Call me again soon. I mean, when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting._

*

It’s an unnaturally hot September afternoon in Rhodes, he’s leaning on one of the railings of the upper decks and watching the stragglers re-board when he actually manages to get through to his brother. It’s early for Sam (this time zone thing is a load of bullcrap), but he kind of knew Sam was gonna answer before he did. He just had an inkling that this was gonna be the moment, not that that actually transfers to him being ready to take the call. 

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, all the breath disappearing out of his lungs at once, because that's _his brother’s_ on the other end of the phone. That’s Sam. 

“Dean,” Sam says back, “Dean. You ... it's so good to hear your voice,” 

“Right back at you Sammy.” 

“It's _you_. Dean. _Hey_.”

“Hey,” Dean croaks, and he needs a minute and Sam clearly needs five, so he just fills the space in the conversation. “They do this thing on the ship where, if it's a hot day, they get staff to give out ice water and iced face towels. Except it's not enough to have straight up water, right, so they get these water coolers and put some mint and lemon and grapefruit in the coolers, so you get slightly grapefruit flavoured ice water. Or mint water. It the most dumb frigging thing.” 

“Wait, are you serious?” 

“Sam, they grow a frigging lawn on the top of this boat. They got half the deck done up in astro turf with signs ‘bout not walking on the grass in high heels,” 

“Send me a picture,” 

“Will do,” Dean says, “Charlie’s on douchey water duty right now. Asked her if she could bring me some left over mint water if there’s any left over. Not holding out hope,” 

“So it’s hot there?” 

“About eighty two,” Dean says, “Feels hotter. This whole damn thing’s been an eternal summer. Holiday makers like the sun, Sam.” 

“Figures,” Sam says, then pauses, “Dean, don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad you called, but why now?” 

“We’ve been doing the voicemail thing for three months. It was, uh, getting easy. Easier. I mean, first couple of times after you called back it, uh, it cost me a lot to call you. I mean, it was really damn hard Sammy, so I figure… keep pushing.” 

“Okay,” 

“That and I gotta run some stuff by you,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a breath. “Stop dodging questions.” 

“So can me and Jess meet you in Europe in the summer?” 

“No,” Dean says, “Cause I’m… okay. You really wanna do this reunion thing?” 

“I haven’t seen you for two and a half years, Dean. Yes. You’re my brother. You’re –”

“ – yeah, we’re best pals, I think I get it,” Dean snaps, even though he doesn’t really mean to. He turns around and faces the inside of the boat instead, turning his back on the sea. “Sam. Damnit, sorry. Uh. I need my car back.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“My car,” Dean says, “I need it.” 

“You live on a boat?” 

“Well that’s gonna change,” Dean says, slamming his eyes shut, “I mean, Sam. Sam, if it is okay with you, I’m gonna hand in my notice and book a flight to California and… and get a job making cocktails at some douchebag bar. I’m gonna take back my car and get an apartment and, I dunno, start over. Start again.” 

“Dean,” 

“Palo Alto, if that ain’t gonna mess things up for you. Or South Dakota, I guess. I can make it work,” 

“When?” 

“When?” Dean repeats, chest constricting, peeling his eyes open. 

“When are you coming home?” 

Home. Fucking hell. Dean’s going _home_.

“Uh, I got eight weeks’ notice period, but I sweet talked my boss into half accepting it before on a maybe basis. Seven weeks. So, um, week before Thanksgiving?” 

“You’re gonna be here for Thanksgiving?” 

“Sure as hell hope Jess cooks, cause otherwise it’s gonna suck. Unless you have plans.” 

“No, uh, I mean we do, but I can sort it,” Sam says and Dean can hear him standing up, moving, ruffling around for things, “You need money for the flights?” 

“I’ve been working for two frigging years, Sam, not living in a bus shelter. Don’t patronise me.” 

“Okay, Dean, sorry.” 

“Whatever,” Dean mutters, pressing a thumb into the centre of his forehead and trying to get himself to chill out. Talking to Sam is a good thing. He probably should have started with something light, rather than diving straight in with _I’m moving home_ but it’s still good news. This is a good conversation. Sam considers Palo Alto to be Dean’s home even though Sam’s the only thing he’s got tying him there. Sam thinks Dean should be tethered to him. Yeah, the guy’s headed straight over to practicalities, because they’ve never had a real time conversation about their frigging emotions, ever, and he can tell Sam is psyched about this. 

“I can scope out douchebag bars for jobs,” 

“Thanks,” Dean says, “I’ll email you a resume. Are motels within your scoping abilities too? Need somewhere to camp out till I can get some place permanent,” 

“Yeah… I can, yeah, leave it with me.” 

“Awesome,” Dean says, “Okay then, Sam, see you in a few weeks.” 

“Dean,” Sam says, and there’s the emotions creeping in. He kind of hates it when Sam says his name like that, a little like he’s welling up, like he’d have his big doe eyes and his stupid smile on. It’s not too bad this time. “This is so great, Dean. This is the best news ever. I’m…”

“I know, Sammy,” Dean manages and, fuck, he might be about to cry too. Goddamnit. “See you soon,” 

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, “Yeah, see you soon Dean. I’m gonna…”

“Go tell Jess?” Dean supplies. 

“Yes,” Sam says, “Just, call soon, Dean.” 

“Rodger that,” Dean grins, blinking at the stupidly blue Greek sky, stomach free falling but, for once, in a good way. He calls Bobby before he’s consciously decided to do so and beams the whole way through telling him he’ll be home in seven weeks. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Pretty ironic that now I actually wanna talk to you I can’t get through, huh? I know you and Cas are best buds and all that crap – still weird, by the way Sam, and don’t think I ain’t noticed you conversation dodging on that topic – but I haven’t told him I’m heading back to the other side of the pond yet. Not cause I’m flaking out, or anything, I booked my flights and confirmed it with my boss. Just… working out what I’m gonna do. I mean… how I’m gonna broach it. I got it under control but just… if we can keep this on the DL till there’s a good moment that’d be awesome. Kay, Sam. Talk to you soon._

*

You have one new message. 

_Hey Dean. I haven’t spoken to Cas in a week or so, anyway. He’s been a little off with me since one of his brothers visited but, got it, mom’s the word. So, I found somewhere for you to stay! If you’re cool with it, I mean. We rent a two bed place and I double checked with Jess and she really wants you to stay with us, too. She really wants to meet you and get to know you properly. I mean, I’ve told her so much about you. I know you probably won’t want to do that long term but uh, we have the space._

*

“They’re transferring you ships?” Charlie asks, setting down her laptop to stare at him. It’s not a good stare. It makes him feel at least six times worse about this chain of events than he already does and he already felt pretty shitty. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, sitting down heavily, “Sorry Kiddo.” 

“Two weeks,” 

“Yep,” Dean says, taking a long drink of his beer, “Got two weeks here, lay over in Southampton for five days, then I got a double dose of two week cruises round Scandinavia and Russia,” 

“You’re going to Russia? Wowsa,” 

“Two nights in St Petersburg in total,” Dean says, sitting down heavily, “Amsterdam, Berlin adjacent, Tallinn, Helsinki, Stockholm, Copenhagen then a couple of other places in Norway I can’t even frigging pronounce.” 

“Sounds pretty sweet, Dean,” 

“Hey, you’re going to hit pretty much the rest of Asia. Back on the twenty eight day stints. That’s why they had to switch me.” 

“Really?” 

“You’re going to frigging China, Japan, Vietnam, India…”

“Wowsa,” 

“Yep,” Dean says, balling his hands into fists and staring at the ground. “Pretty dumb to be complaining about escaping the hellhole of the eternal loop of the Mediterranean I just… I figured you’d have my back for these last couple of weeks.” 

“I love you too,” Charlie says, fists bumping his arm, “Obviously, we’ll have to create a new album for the non-European adventures and I’m kind of bummed out too… but we have two weeks and this sounds a _lot_ like an adventure,” 

“Guess so,” Dean says, looking at his hands and trying not to dwell on the fact that, at this point, he doesn’t want adventure anymore (not that that was ever a priority). He wants comfort and familiarity and seven weeks of hanging out with the best friend he’s ever had outside of his family. 

*

He texts Cas asking if he’s ever been to Russia when he’s just started verging on excited about _Amsterdam_ and _Helsinki_ spurred on quite a lot, actually, by the links Sam sent him after their most successful phone conversation so far. 

He doesn’t get an answer. 

*

You have one new message. 

_Hey Dean. Missed you again. Hope you’re hanging out with Charlie somewhere and that’s why you can’t answer. So, I got you a job at this bar if you want it. Pretty non-douchey so you could probably find somewhere with better pay, but I think you’ll like it. It’s like an upgraded biker joint with a jukebox. They mostly get students who can barely drink wanting to work there, so they were pretty eager to have you. Let me know. You spoken to Cas lately?_

*

Charlie twists her laptop screen round to show him the home page of the upgraded-biker joint Sam’s wrangled him a job at which honestly looks pretty great. It looks a hell of a lot more like a place he’d want to be than any of the bars on this damn ship, which are all over priced and over stocked with different varieties of gin. He likes the idea of place where ordering a gin and tonic doesn’t require three follow up questions, even if he’s got pretty used to drinking the expensive stuff over the past couple of years. 

“He was serious about the juke box then,” Dean says, squinting at the page. He’s a dull kind of pleased. He feels a lot like he’s going to need to re-sort every single thing that Sam’s sorted the second he gets back to keep him from feeling like he’s relying on his brother. He’s got this feeling that it's gonna make him crazy. He’s got no idea how the hell he’s gonna manage that with Sam, though, considering Sam is bending over backwards to try and make this easy for him. He'll just read it as rejection which it isn't. It isn't.

The fact that his kid brother is trying to fix his life doesn’t help. It makes him feel a little shitty. 

Sam's trying so damn hard, though, so he's just gonna have to get over it. 

*

Castiel actually, of his own accord, calls him when he’s bringing Charlie ice cream In Valletta, Malta, because she only managed to get half a day off whilst he got the whole shebang. 

“Hey,” Dean says, doing his best to sound like he’s not pissed, which he’s pretty sure he is. Mostly, he’s irritated at himself for ruining a perfectly good thing. When they were just texting everything was fine. He’s got no idea how it wound up so messed up from Dean pushing for a little more, but it did. Sam can tell him he’s overthinking as much as he likes but Dean knows when he’s being blown off. “What’s up?” 

“I’m going to be in London next week for business,” 

Dean nearly trips over his feet. 

“ _London_ , London,” Dean says, stopping in the middle of the damn street, narrowly avoiding causing the tourist behind to trip over him. “What day?” 

“Tuesday to Wednesday,” 

“Holy … you serious?” Dean asks, “Sweet. I can come meet you. I got five whole days to burn in England and that’s…. shit, Cas, that’s awesome. That’s frigging ace,” Dean grins, heart thudding in his chest, adrenaline bubbling up in his stomach. He’s going to see Cas. He’s going to be able to see _Cas_. He _told_ him he was going to be in Southampton for the better part of a week (without the resounding context, sure, but he knows) and now Cas is gonna be in London. He couldn’t have even hoped it’d turn out that good. He’ll have just said goodbye to Charlie and have four weeks on his own to deal with but, first, he’ll get Cas. “Not that I’m complaining, but since when did research take you to London?” Dean continues, forcing himself back into motion to avoid Charlie’s ice cream melting all over the shop. 

“It’s a favour for my brother’s company,” Cas says, voice deep low and awesome and Dean’s gonna actually _see_ him next week. “I’m going on his behalf,” 

“I ever tell you I love your brother?” 

“You don’t even know which one I’m referring to,” 

“Sweetheart, right now I love all of them,” Dean says, “How long you got?” 

“Not very,” Cas says, sounding way too serious and calm considering what’s happening right here. “A few hours at most. The meeting is very early in the morning so I will need an early night to recover from the jet lag.” 

He’s not invited to stay the night, then. Message received. 

“I’ll take a few hours,” Dean says, a little of his excitement lessening, something else stirring up in his gut. “Hell, Cas, I’d take half an hour.” 

“I need to see you, Dean,” Cas says, with all the gravitas and seriousness that Cas usually brings when he speaks. Except, that could be good or bad. _I need to see you_ could be referring to the kind of itch Dean’s been feeling for the past couple of weeks that he’s been getting half-hearted responses to his messages when he really, really wants to see the guy to get a read on what’s going on in his head. And just because he'd really like to hang out with the guy. _I need to see you_ could also be a Cas version of ‘we need to talk’ which is never a good thing, so who the hell knows. 

He does need to see Cas. He needs to see Cas and tell him that he’s moving to frigging Palo Alto and is gonna be landing into San Jose airport in less than two months, which wiIl get Sam off his back too. He needs Cas to know that he's scarily serious about their whole thing.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Seeing you will be a serious upgrade to this phone bullshit,” 

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “This phoning is… bullshit,” 

“Say bullshit again, Cas,” Dean grins, sitting down on the bench next to Charlie and passing her the damn ice cream, “Go on,” 

“Bullshit,” 

“Hah,” Dean says, “And again, Cas,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, sounding actually affectionate this time, “What time can you get to London on Tuesday?” 

“Uh, two PM,” Dean hedges, “Takes an hour and a half to two hours on the train right? Yeah, should make it by two after I’ve said goodbye to Charlie,” 

“I land at eight AM,” 

“So you’re gonna be moody as hell,” Dean smiles out across the sea, “Awesome.” 

“I’ll meet you at Waterloo station at two,” Cas says, “Dean, I need to…”

“Okay,” Dean says, “See you on Tuesday, Cas,” 

“What the hell just happened?” Charlie asks, staring at him intently enough that she doesn’t notice the fact that her ice cream’s dripping onto her jeans. 

“Uh,” Dean says, “Either I got an international booty call, or Cas is flying out five thousand miles in order to dump me in person.” 

“Huh,” 

*

_Safe flight Cas. Don’t go falling for any air hostesses and forgetting who I am before you get here._

_Imbibing enough alcohol to forget about you would be ambitious._

_You’ve got ten hours. I’ve got faith in you._

_See you soon Dean._

*

You have one new message. 

_Hey Dean, sorry I missed you. Know you’ve got a lot going on today with Charlie and Cas just… call me if you need me, okay? If you need to talk about it, or not talk about it, or anything… I'm here, Dean._

*

Saying goodbye to Charlie sucks even harder than he figured it would. They wind up sat on a bench near the fishing port sharing fish and chips (Charlie's idea) and staring out over the sea. It's not raining for once, but it's grey and cold and a little crap and too early to be eating battered anything. They don't have enough time to push lunch back any further, though. 

"You have a plan for London?" 

"Gave him a fake train time," Dean says, “Checking my bag of stuff into a hostel, then heading back to the train station to meet him. That way doesn't look like I'm expecting to stay the night… but if he gets his head out of his ass and lets me hang around for more than a couple of hours, I’ve got a change of clothes and a tooth brush.” 

“Nice,” Charlie says, “Very subterfuge. Much less awkward than calling him to clarify if he’s going to end your thing,” 

“It’s his turn to,” Dean says, “Anyway… it’s…He said this thing hadn’t been very good for him. It’s pretty good of the guy to set up a fake meeting for his brother instead of doing it over the phone. I get it. This aint exactly how you dream things are gonna go. Anyway, what about you? You got a plan for Dubai?” 

“Six plans,” Charlie says, “Still whittling it down to the dream plan. Got get my money’s worth. Or, I stay on the ship long enough to execute all six plans.” 

“Keep me updated, kiddo,” 

“Try and stop me,” Charlie returns, going for another for another fry/chip thing. 

“What the hell is this?” 

“Um,” Charlie says, “Confession: I told the fish and chip shop guy that we were clueless Americans trying to experience the British culture. I _think_ it’s a battered potato. He called it a Scallop,” 

“A Scallop?” 

“Also got us a chip butty,” 

“Fries _in bread_ ,”

“Last time we were stuck here whilst you were busy getting laid for three days, I lived off these things,” Charlie says, ripping it in half, “So, I’m totally gonna hit you up when I get back stateside,” 

“You know when that’s gonna be?” 

“Nope,” Charlie says, “Depends how awesome Asia is but….” 

“Keep me on speed dial, kid,” Dean says, nudging her with his shoulder, “I’ll keep my couch open for you.” 

“And I want the Cas gossip,” 

“And you tell me if you get laid,” 

“When,” Charlie corrects, pulling her cell phone out and taking a picture of the harbour, “And I’m super proud of you, Dean.” 

“Thanks,” Dean says, taking the other half of the frigging chip butty and taking a bite. He doesn’t know quite what else to say, but he thinks he might just be proud of him too, even if the only reason this came up in the first place was because of his broken head. 

“Pinky promise you won’t let Cas or Sam or anyone else have the power to break you again?” 

“Pinky promise,” Dean echoes, stretching out his little finger. Charlie keeps his little finger clasped tight and Dean throws an arm over her shoulders. Together, they watch the waves rise and break, bundled up in all the layers they bought on this thing because England in September is officially cold. 

In the end, he walks Charlie up to the gates of the ship and hugs her way too long before she has to get on for staff briefing. He checks into his old, crappy room at the Britannia South Hotel before repacking one of his duffle bags and booking a taxi to the train station. 

He buys a return valid for the next month, just in case, and then he boards a train to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel looks good in his dumb trench coat and his wonky tie, smart yet crumpled, looking confidently misplaced in the exit from the London underground. He also looks pretty miserable about being there, which doesn't ease his trepidation any because… god help him, even if Cas is gonna kick him to the curb, he’s still kind of excited about seeing the guy. Mostly.

There’s a part of him that wanted to work out if he’d built Castiel up in his head, because it’s completely fucking crazy for Dean to have such a connection with some guy he only really hung out with for a few days. A month. He figured, maybe, that these feelings leaked in because he was lonely and vulnerable and in the middle of the frigging ocean. After he stopped answering Dean’s calls, he’d half way convinced himself that he’d made some of it up. That Castiel might not be significant. 

And then the thought of meeting the guy in London pushed out the growing anxious-excitement about everything; about seeing Sam and four weeks alone in Scandinavia and flying back to California and moving in with his kid brother without losing his mind. If some mystery meeting with Cas can do that, Dean’s probably totally screwed. 

“Hey,” Dean says, throat tight, as Cas turns around to face him. His face lights up with recognition for a moment before he’s almost-frowning again. A closer look reveals that Cas is a lot more stressed than last time Dean saw him. He looks good, yeah, but he’s lost that relaxed vacation glow. He looks tired. Just slightly miserable. 

“Hello Dean,”

“Flight okay?”

“I think I find flying less perturbing than you,” 

“Don’t remember telling you about my, uh, phobia,” Dean flushes, pocketing his hands before regretting it. 

“I inferred from your messages,” Castiel says, expression softening, his frown becoming more affectionate than severe,“How are you Dean?”

“We doing this meet cute in a tube station?” Dean asks, partially cause it would really suck to be dumped _here_ and because he wants to drag this out. 

Cas tilts his head like he’s working out if Dean’s question is a genuine one. 

“Coffee?”

Dean nods his assent and neither of them really speak again until they’re nursing extra large mugs in some chain coffee shop that Dean doesn’t recognise. He's definitely seen a couple in Southampton too. The coffee is fine; overpriced but large. Even the artwork hung on the walls is generic and a little predictable, but the atmosphere is comfortingly familiar despite the fact he’s never been here before.

“I’m good,” Dean says to break the silence, “First time in a long time I’ve been able to say that but, yeah, I’m good.”

“Good,” Cas says, a smile briefly breaking out onto his face.

“But what about you, man? You’re the one with the changes. You swapped jobs, now you’re here running meetings for the brothers you try and avoid. You met my brother.”

“I did meet your brother,” Cas acknowledges, “He’s very tall,”

“Better not have gotten taller since the last time I saw the kid,”

“He assured me he was that height when you left,”

“The two weren’t related,” Dean says, “He’s awesome, right? Smart. Going places.”

“He is a credit to you,” Cas says, “He told me about your hand in raising him,”

“Hey, I told you about that first,”

“You underplayed it,”

“He overplayed it cause he’s pissed at Dad,” Dean counters, “I cooked packet mac and cheese when Dad bought it and fed him lucky charms for three meals a day when he forgot. How’s Jess?”

“They seem very happy,”

“Yeah, he sounds happy,” Dean nods, “And I got Jess on facebook now. She _seems_ way out of my brother’s league, but if she’s happy slumming it…”

“I’ll tell Sam that,”

“Yeah, do,” Dean says, “He said you’ve been kind of awol for a while. And don’t go thinking I didn’t notice you dodging the work crap,”

“I wasn’t dodging,”

“You skipped three questions to talk about Sam, cause you know I’m a sucker when it comes to talking ‘bout my little brother. You bet your ass you were dodging. You don’t wanna talk about it, that’s cool, though. You don’t owe me anything,”

Cas’ forehead furrows at that.

“I took up the research position at Stanford because I was qualified and it seemed interesting and my previous work contract wasn’t extended,” Cas says, frowning slightly, “But _that_ is depended on funding, which has been recently called into question, and my brother’s are insisting that I should be chasing a career and I’m running out of reasons why I don’t want to work for Michael. It’s been complicated and stressful. I’ve just been tired of talking about it,”

“Work for Michael?” 

“In New York,”

“Damn, Cas,” Dean says, stomach turning inside out, because he really really wants to tell Castiel not to move for his own selfish, crappy reasons, which is dumb given Cas doesn’t even know he’s moving stateside yet. “What about San Jose?”

“I have nothing of substance tying me there,” Cas says, “Perhaps I _should_ be choosing loyalty to my family over job satisfaction.”

“Woah there,” Dean says, “Why?”

“Dean, you said yourself about the importance of family.”

“But that’s not a trump card. I was wrong about that.”

“I don’t think you were,”

“Okay, look, Cas. Don’t listen to me,” Dean says, “I skipped a few life lessons growing up. Only just started playing catch up. And, yeah okay, Sam taking off like that… it was selfish, but sometimes you gotta be selfish. Getting on this boat and letting my whole damn family worry about me for years was the shittiest most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but it sure as hell beat the alternative. I needed to do it. And you’re not talking about you abandoning your family, you’re talking about not taking a job you don’t want,”

“Out of a misguided view of the worth of independence. It’s infinitely more selfish than your decision, which was born out of desperation and hurt,”

“I _get_ the independence thing. I’ve been thinking about it since we last talked and I’m beginning to get it. It's way more than just doing whatever the hell you like. It's about weighing everything up and acknowledging that you got your own principles and wants and dreams that are gonna make you happy. It's not about failing your duty to your family. If they needed you - them, not their business - then you'd go. You're that kind of person, Cas. Righteous. Good. This really been weighing on you?”

“It feels like everything has been weighing on me ,” Cas says, frowning at his coffee. “Your assessment of me is too flattering. Dean, I need to…”

“You gotta work out what you wanna do, Cas. You can't rely on other people's dreams and wants to get you through. It doesn't work. If I'd learnt it a little earlier, I'd have protected myself from all of this crap. If this research job is fulfilling and works for you, then to hell with your brothers projecting their hopes for your future on to your life. If it doesn’t work for you, you find something else. Do what you want.”

Cas reaches forward to touch his hand. It’s a soft, almost nothing kind of touch, but it’s the first physical contact they’ve had since that kiss at Southampton train station. 

And Dean definitely was not overplaying Castiel in his head.

*

“I've always wanted to go to the science museum,” Cas says, after they've drained their coffees and stared at the empty cups for long enough that the barista has been eyeing them up like she’s gearing up to barging over and asking them to leave.

Museums aren’t exactly Dean's thing and are pretty far down the list of crap he’d like to do in London (and even further down the list of crap he’d like to do in London _with Cas_ ) but he's pretty sure Cas could suggest watching paint dry and he'd be down with it if it stretched their day our a little longer. He’s just glad Cas is suggesting _something_. 

“It's free,” Cas adds, gaze assessing and hopeful. It’s one of the first positive signs he’s had this whole frigging day. He wants to draw this out too. 

“In that case,” Dean says, standing up, “Let's go.”

*

You have one new message. 

_Dean, you said you’d call after you split from Charlie, even if it’s early here. Just… check in and let me know you’re going okay? Okay._

*

“You go to church,”

“You're surprised,” Cas says, turning his blue gaze on him in a way that’s almost a challenge. Dean’s got no idea how they ended up on this topic - something to do with small talk about the science museum that took a segway into religion - and now Cas has been talking about his own personal brand of faith. It’s fucking fascinating, actually, to the point where Dean’s enjoying a frigging museum more than he’s ever done in his life, even if he hasn’t been paying a blind bit of attention to the damn thing. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I mean, last time we were both in this country we definitely engaged in some enthusiastic sins of the flesh, dude to dude,” 

“That is an assumption that I wish was more unwarranted,” Castiel says, smiling slightly.

“But you, uh, you believe? In all that stuff?”

“Yes. Unless by ‘stuff’ you mean that homosexuality is a sin, which would be fairly hypocritical of me. Theologically, I have a number of views about common conceptions of 'sin' but... I take it that you don't believe."

“I think my Mom did. Pretty sure Sam prays. I guess I was, uh, I was pretty desolate for a while back there. I mean, I didn't have any hope. That didn't exactly square up with a God for me. Haven’t thought a whole lot about it since,”

Cas pauses to tilt his head at him for a second in which Dean feels painfully vulnerable. There’s not a lot of people in the world he’d let drag him into a conversation about faith and Cas is an unlikely candidate. The next second the moment’s gone and Cas turns on the spot at the exit to the science museum because, apparently, they’ve done a whole loop. Dean didn’t realise.

“We should go to the National History Museum next,” Cas says, “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Dean’s nodding before he’s honed in on anything other than ‘next’. 

*

You have one new message. 

_Dean, texting me ‘I’m fine’ is the exact opposite of convincing. I’m guessing you’re with Cas right now but if you’re listening to this you already took a timeout to check your phone so just… call, okay? I get that me worrying is probably just going to piss you off but… honestly, Dean, do you blame me?_

*

Cas is right about him enjoying the natural history museum, in the vaguest sense. The stuffed animals are kind of creepy but the Dinosaur exhibition is fucking sweet, but mostly he's enjoying Cas enjoying himself. He's drinking in facts and correcting signs and shooting off trivia about whales and Dean feels a little like he's seeing Cas in his element, even though he's damn sure this has nothing to do with the guy's research interests. It's fun. It's addictive and endearing and makes his chest hurt too, but it's also fun.

Then that’s done, too, and they’re stood outside the huge ass museum looking at each other.

"Any more museums you wanna hit up?" Dean asks, pocketing his hands outside. There's an advert for an ice skating ring due to go up for christmas to his left, rows of white town houses opposite and people rushing everywhere. They're the only ones still, with Cas' gaze laser sharp and Dean realising he hadn’t thought about the prospect of Cas dumping him for the past hour, up until they were outside again.

"What time is your train?"

"Whenever," Dean says, "I, uh, got an open return and they run pretty late."

"Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," Dean shrugs, as Cas almost smiles, then begins walking again.

"I have a suggestion for food,"

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_Hey Sam. Just calling from this restaurant with the most frigging incredible burgers in London. With Cas still. He’s debating something on the bill. I just needed some air. Guessing we’re gonna split soon. It’s all fine. Quit worrying about me like a freaking girl. Whatever happens I’ll be fine. I’ll call you properly later_. 

*

“Sorted?” Dean asks, dropping his cell back into his pocket to glance up at Cas.

“Yes,” Cas smiles, lips softly pulling up at the edges. When he first met the guy, Dean thought Cas was rarely soft. Now he’s gotten accustomed to seeing the various hues and shades of Cas’ mild smiles and, damnit, it’s so good. This day has been so good. He’d built up the whole thing to be a total emotional typhoon, between Charlie and Cas, but it’s been basically incredible. All they’ve _done_ is wander around killing time, but since the breakthrough in the coffee shop it’s been so damn easy.

“That place was awesome,”

"I thought you'd like it,"

“Guess you know me pretty well,” Dean says, glancing at the road. There’s signs to the tube stops and busses and taxis and Dean really doesn’t want to get in any of them but he’s pretty sure they’ve run out of places to go with this. They haven’t so much as touched since that not-hand-hold in the coffee shop and, if it wasn’t for the fact of their _last_ encounter, Dean would be still trying to decide if it even counted as a date or not. 

Cas was crystal clear that it wasn’t an overnight invitation. The again, Cas told him he only had a free couple of hours and they’ve been wasting away time for close to eight. 

“I guess I should head,” Dean hedges, watching Cas’ expression carefully. It flickers slightly and then shifts completely. Cas takes a step forwards. They were standing pretty close before all by accident and _now_ they’re sharing the same air. Dean’s muscles tense up and his heart is picking up the pace and, goddamnit, he is a grown ass man and he should not be this easy. “You, uh, know the best route back?”

“Does your ticket specific today?” Cas asks, voice low.

"No," Dean says, mouth dry.

“I know an excellent route via Tower Bridge,”

“Okay then,” Dean blinks, shaking himself out of the moment. There’s a jolt of disappointment which is completely his own fault for getting his hopes up. Cas _told_ him he had this bullshit early meeting. This isn’t news. This is better than he thought it would go. “I guess I’ll work it out. Tower Bridge. Got it.”

“Wait,” Cas says, reaching out to grab his arm, “Dean. I hadn’t realised I hadn’t mentioned the location of my hotel previously. If I had, that might have been more recognisable as a come on,” Cas says, “My hotel is near Tower Bridge. We should go there.”

It takes a moment to sink in and then he laughs out loud. Mostly it’s relief which is all kinds of bullshit but he’s going to deal with that later. Cas tries to look put out but he’s smiling too goddamn hard. In the end, the guy shuts Dean up by grabbing a fistful of leather jacket and finally, frigging finally, pulling him into a kiss.

*

It's just shy of midnight when Castiel suddenly gets silent and brittle.

Half an hour previously they'd been screwing around and they filled in the blank space between then and now by just being close and exchanging occasional quips. Dean had just decided to fuck it - fuck overthinking - and to throw an arm over the guy and full-big-spoon when Cas got out of bed and started wordlessly making himself a cup of frigging tea.

He’s back to how he first was in the coffee shop; pensive, quiet and utterly impenetrable. 

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Cas eventually says, frowning at his cup of tea and not turning around. Dean feels the dread he’d been slowly digesting since he got on the train to Southampton stirring up again, because staring at Cas’ back whilst he deliberately peels the foil off a milk container definitely isn’t good news. He _knew_ it was coming, too, but a few hours of hanging around in the frigging Science Museum and coffee and good food and Dean totally fell for his dumb blue eyes and frowny routine. He’s an idiot. He’s a total fucking idiot and Cas is just…

“Yeah,” Dean says, looking at his hands, “And what was supposed to happen?”

"I," Cas begins, setting down his milk and turning to face him looking pained, “I wanted to speak to you face to face,”

“Sounds like a fun talk,” Dean says, throwing the sheets off his legs and reaching for his shirt, “You mind if I skip it this time?”

“Dean,”

“What, Cas?” Dean asks, “What? You want me to sit around and listen to your prepared speech about how you’re done with me right after we screwed –”

“ – We weren’t supposed to sleep together. I… I miscalculated how much you affect me."

"Lucky me,” Dean says, throwing his hands up into the air and grabbing at his cell phone, “Always wanted to be a miscalculation, now I can add it to my resume alongside _total dumbass_ and _should’ve fucking known_.”

“You were right in Southampton, Dean, I should have trusted your judgement then,”

“You know, I’ve been looking for some support for that decision for a while, but right now ain’t exactly the moment I wanted it to come.” 

“I –“

“So you didn’t want me to call?”

“I _wanted_ you to call,” Cas interjects, “I wanted to spend the day with you. I wanted to _see_ you but I was supposed to… This isn’t what I _want_. None of this is remotely about you. You’re just… you’re very far away, Dean. I can’t _help you_ with your brother or rebuilding your life and I don’t believe you want me to ... and we’re in significantly different time zones and I have no idea what we’re doing or what I owe you or what _you_ want or what _I_ want and I have not been handling things well. I was exceedingly glad you called me and I thought I had the text messages under control, but then I didn’t and you rescued me from that date and… I don’t know what else to do, Dean,” Cas trails off, arms hanging stiffly from his shoulders, looking deeply unhappy.

“I don’t want you to help me,” Dean mutters, the heat evaporation from his voice, because… okay, he gets that. He gets it and the fact that he can turn right around with a solution helps, too. 

He hasn’t mentioned even the notion of heading back to stateside, partially because he was so far off that point when they were last face to face, and cause he didn’t want to put his big return on Cas. For a long time, he made Sam responsible for his mental health, and Cas knows that. Last thing any of them need is Cas thinking that Dean’s shifted the responsibility onto him.

He’s just realising that going the other way and not even _suggesting_ he was thinking about it must have been totally confusing for Cas. His cold-warm-hot routine doesn’t make a whole lot of sense without the context. 

“Guessing it’s not a coincidence you’re working here this week, huh?”

Cas sits down looking utterly miserable. 

"I confided in Gabriel and he arranged meetings Michael couldn't attend and sent me in lieu of him. How he was able to ascertain your schedule -"

"Your brother arranged a convenient time for you to dump me? I mean, damn Cas, you weren't kidding when you said he could be interfering,"

"I wouldn't have done it without prompting."

"You're hardly doing it now," Dean says, "Not for nothing, man, but that didn't feel like pre-break up sex. It felt like, damn, I'm really desperate to make this work sex."

"Can't both be true?" Castiel asks, looking profoundly unhappy, "Dean, I didn't _intend_ for that to happen, but you're -"

"- oozing in charm and sex appeal?"

"Yes," Cas says, "And you have an unyielding joy and insatiable loyalty and you are good and funny and enthralling and I’ve had an excellent day and you have this faith in me and I don't want to give you up,"

"Looks like quite the dilemma," Dean says, the corners of his pulling upwards a little, because _Cas doesn’t want to give him up_. They can still turn this around. He’s ready, near enough, to actually be good for Cas. He’s pretty sure he could do that. He knows he sure as hell wants to be. "Drink your tea before it goes cold, Cas.”

"What?" 

"Drink your tea," Dean says, standing up and pulling on his boxers. "I'm not leaving, just preserving a little dignity here. If you are gonna end this personal crisis of faith here by kicking me out I'd rather not be in my birthday suit."

Cas’ expression twists into something a little more neutral, like he’s noticed Dean’s change of setting and doesn’t know what the hell to make of any of it. He’s frowning at him and not drinking his damn tea.

“It would be very rude of me to kick you out,” 

“It's not the politest post-coital chat to say you were gonna meet me for coffee and send me on my way till you got distracted by my pretty eyes, but okay,” Dean says, “I guess I wasn’t all that polite in Southampton. Figures this makes us even,”

“Your reaction is very confusing. I can't tell if you're teasing me or deeply angry,”

“Yeah, I got no idea either,” Dean says, rubbing a hand across his forehead, shutting his eyes for a second. “I didn’t have a speech and all planned out like you, but there was some stuff I wanted to talk about too which might… uh. Well, you’ve gotta have noticed I’m doing better.”

“I noticed,” Cas agrees, “You've been travelling,”

“Yeah. Figured out I had some savings, so I stopped picking up extra shifts. Been drying myself out. Cut out most spirits and, uh, drinkin’ before lunch. Long term plan is… well, long term, so. Got myself a skype therapist which is kind of bullshit. Opening up to Charlie. I called Sam. In real time called Sam. We talked.”

“Dean, that’s –”

“- awesome,” Dean prompts, “It's the sanest I've felt since Sam went to Stanford.”

“It truly is awesome,” Cas says, eye crinkling smile so wide and lovely that Dean really believes Cas does think it's awesome. Cas cares. Even when the guy’s trying to break up with him, Cas cares. “You are phenomenal, Dean,”

“But?”

“I just... even with all that, you are in Europe, I'm in San Jose and I.... I can't conceive a way that's feasible. I _want_ to be able to make this work with you, but I don’t think I can,”

“That a get out clause or the real deal?” Dean asks, which wins him a frown. “Seriously, Cas. You wanna work this out, or is this some convenient get of jail card cause things got intense? Either way is fine. You know I’ve got a history of abandonment issues but, I promise, I wouldn’t have shown up here if I couldn’t deal with either answer. I just gotta know.”

“I am exceedingly concerned that I'm going to fall in love with you,” Cas says, staring right at him, blue eyes fixed on his so that it’s absolutely impossible to believe that Cas doesn’t mean every syllable of it. And ho _ly_ shit. Dean wasn’t building a damn thing up in his head and Cas… Castiel is awesome. He’s one of the most incredible people Dean’s ever met and the guy cares, a lot, and he can get Dean to enjoy frigging museums and can pick out restaurants he’ll love and totally fail at pick up lines like some nerdy virgin, even if he’s far from it. Cas is _falling in love with him_ and Dean’s been so convinced the guy is about to blow him off he’s been holding off talking to him about coming home. He’s been so convinced he’d screwed up that he’s been screwing up and… And Cas is _concerned_ that he’s going to fall in love with him and Dean’s been staring at him for long enough that Cas has noticed it’s ‘awkward. “Dean.” 

“Fuck, I’m a total dickbag. Damnit,”

“That’s… not a normal response to this situation,”

“Sorry, damnit, okay. You’re a little behind here. I got more intel here and I probably should have told you straight off in the train station but you were… not all that subtle about your lack of enthusiasm for this little meet up. I figured you were gonna… and then we were having such a good time that I just…” Dean trails off and he’s suddenly the kind of nervous he hasn’t felt since he was fifteen.

“Dean,”

“I, uh, handed in my notice a couple of weeks ago. They’re swapping me onto the Scandinavian cruise for the next four weeks and then I’m on a flight stateside. To your frigging city, actually, cause I’m moving to Palo Alto and San Jose works out easiest for flights.”

“Oh,”

“Sam reckons he’s got me a job at this bar. He’s gonna set me up in his spare room till I can work out something permanent. My skype therapist is based there so we’re going face to face. Got flights booked for five weeks’ time.”

“You're...”

“Done running,” Dean says.

“This is what you wanted to tell me,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, mouth a little dry, because Castiel is very still and Dean’s got no idea what that means. “No pressure, Cas, just wanted to know if you wanna get dinner sometime when I'm back?”

“Dinner,” Cas repeats, “In California. You..." Cas leans forward to kiss him so gracelessly that the tea spills over the hotel bed sheets, and neither of them do anything about it. Dean just knots his fingers through the guy’s hair and pulls him in. “Dean. Why didn't you lead with this information?”

“Cause I’m dumbass?” Dean suggests, as Castiel frames Dean’s face with his hands and holds him still, staring. 

“You're moving to California,”

“Cause of Sam. Aint stalking you or anything.” 

Cas' face breaks out into a wide smile.

“Dean, I would very much like to go for dinner with you,”

“So we're cancelling the break up talk?”

“Absolutely,” Castiel says, smile wide, “Although my understanding is that the prerequisite for breaking up is - ”

“Hey, you're the one starting the ‘it's not you it's everything else’ speech,” Dean counters, trying to pull the guy back in. Cas is resolute in keeping distance between them, though, fixing him with the kind of look which usually precludes the kind of talk Dean tries to avoid at all costs. 

“Are we in a relationship, Dean?”

Dean exhales and extracts himself from where Cas has him pinned onto the bed in his hotel room. He wants a drink, but he’s trying not to do that, so he gets himself a glass of water before turning to face him again.

“It's still like five weeks. We can save the talk till after I've landed on American soil. Don't want you feeling crappy about dates or whatever else you've got going on,”

“Dean, you are what I have going on. Unless you - ”

“- no,” Dean says, “I'm... just no. I might not be that exciting when this ain't some international time limited thing.”

“That's patently ridiculous,” Cas says, watching Dean’s pacing the length of the hotel room from the bed. 

“Plus your brother would kill me if you came out here to end our fling and came back with a boyfriend,”

“Dean,” Cas says which means, apparently, Dean isn’t getting away with blowing this conversation off the way he wants to. That’s probably a good thing. Cas has got him to talk about a whole lot of stuff he didn’t think he’d _ever_ talk about, so they should probably keep communication about this open. 

“It's not that I don't trust you, I just don't wanna be believing I'm coming back to something if I'm not. We don't know that we're gonna make it a week when we're on solid ground and I... I wanna play things safe,”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says.

“Okay,” Dean exhales, setting down his glass of water, “So that was a pretty shitty but necessary diversion. Where were we?”

*

You have one new voicemail.

_Dean. You haven’t called yet. Guessing that means you’re still with Cas or you’re… not and you didn’t feel like calling which… just, just let me know which, okay? I just want to know if you’re okay. Cas has been… I don’t know. You know him better than me. It’s night time for you so… call in the morning, I guess._

*

He gets back to Castiel’s hotel room after retrieving his belongings to find Cas frowning at the note he left next to the kettle on the hotel stationary. He left one next to Cas’ side of the bed, too, to cover his bases. After the shitstorm that’s been their long distance communication thus far, he figured the last thing they needed was another miscommunication. 

Especially as, apparently, Castiel thinks he’s at risk of falling in love with him. A fact which his head keeps flicking back to at thirty second intervals, leaving him with a weird feeling somewhere underneath his ribs. He just doesn’t really know what to _do_ with that. 

“Morning sunshine,” Dean says, “I got coffee,”

“And a duffle bag,”

“And breakfast,” Dean says, gesturing at the brown bag of pastry. 

“You have belongings,”

“Southampton’s kind of long way away,” Dean says, dropping his bag at the foot of the bed and offering Cas the bag of pastry, “Figured I’d stay whatever happened with our thing so… I checked into a hostel before meeting you at the station.”

“You checked into a hostel,” Cas says, forehead creased into confusion. Dean passes him a coffee which he accepts almost on automatic. 

“In case I got unlucky,”

“You checked into a hostel,” Cas says again, fingers gripped tight around the coffee.

“All checked out now,” Dean says. 

“I need to re-arrange my flights,” Castiel says, suddenly bursting into motion. He’s crossed the room to his suitcase - the same career smart thing Cas had with him on the cruise, but the baby size - and is pulling out his laptop before Dean’s managed to work out what the hell he did in the past two seconds to wake Cas up. The guy was jet lagged and sleep dumb two seconds ago.

“Huh?”

“How long do you have, Dean?”

“What?”

“When do you leave for Scandinavia?” 

“Three days till I gotta be on a boat,” 

“I'll call Gabriel's PA.”

“Wait, what? You're gonna stay till then? _We're_ staying here till then?” Dean asks, pulse picking up more out of _shock_ than anything else. Cas saying all that stuff yesterday feels a lot more abstract than Cas rearranging his whole goddamn life in order to stay in London for a few more days to hang out, but Cas didn’t even think about it. 

“I’ll contact Michael’s PA. She’s sure to be less irritating than calling Gabriel directly.”

“Cas,” Dean says, “You’re staying here?”

“I like London,”

“But do you like your _job_ Cas? Cause they might have something to say about you not showing up because, what? A glorified international booty call. Even if this was some longstanding thing, I’m pretty sure they might have some kind of problem with that,”

“I already booked the time off work. Gabriel was intending to ‘cheer me up’ so I’m sure missing that will save me on therapy bills,”

“Cheer you up after our breakup, you mean?” Dean says.

Cas stills.

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“No,” Dean counters, “I’m not _uncomfortable_. We just got from breakfast to a frigging mini break in thirty seconds flat and I… look, it sounds awesome, but are you sure about this? You don’t wanna take a minute and think this through?”

“Dean,”

“You _sure_ you wanna change all your plans for a couple of days? You just wanna, I dunno, hit up london and the single museum we missed and tower bridge. You wanna waste your time doing all that dumb crap? Re-arrange your flights for _that_?”

“Yes,” Cas says, “Although I do have to attend this meeting first.”

“Huh,” Dean says, sitting down, “Kind of figured the meeting was a fake too.”

“It’s a real meeting,”

“Look, Cas, I’m gonna shower now I’ve got my crap. Promise me you’ll think about this before you call whoever it is you gotta call? I aint gonna be offended if you gotta go,”

Cas nod, but Dean’s pretty damn sure he’s hit dial before he’s shut the bathroom door behind him.

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_I’m not pissed at you for being worried. I get it, but you need to take it down a notch, Sammy. I’m good. I’m okay. Even if it had gone south with Cas, I’d have been okay. You gotta trust me on that. I will tell you if you gotta worry, okay? I will let you know if things are getting bad again. I promise, Sam, I’m not gonna keep you in the dark this time. That’s part of what the damn problem was the in the first place. So, yeah, it was a good kind of a silence. Totally called it about Cas breaking up with me but I managed to talk him out of it, so we’re all good. Finally told him about coming back to the homeland too. He’s at his meeting right now. Think I’m hanging around in London for a few days. Sure as hell less depressing than southampton. Okay, Sam. Try and keep the stress calls to one a day, you hear me? Otherwise Jess’ll get jealous._

*

It hits him halfway through their outside loop of big Ben, when Cas is reeling off some fact about the bit that's really called big Ben or something that Dean honestly doesn’t care about, that the Cas of today is a helluva lot brighter and better rested than the one who touched down in London. He gets a vivid flashback of Cas telling him this hasn't been good for him in the phone call and then another of Cas in the coffee shop saying everything has been weighing on him lately. Dean’s stupid frigging inability to register the fact that Cas has got to have feelings invested in this too has been _hurting_ the guy.

“I'm pissed that I made you miserable,” Dean says, “Didn't even know I was doing it. I hate that.”

“Dean. You didn't know.”

“Could've scrubbed together a couple of brain cells and worked it out.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me,” Cas says, mild and innocent, with a touch of something that’s very promising.

Dean snorts and sends Charlie the pictures of the tower of London he promised he’d send her. She’s on route to Dubai, which is pretty sweet, but she’s got a few days at sea before they get there. She’s sent him a few picture of the ocean in response to all of his London pictures, though, and Dean’s kind of enjoying their back and forth. 

*

You have one new message.

_Hey Dean. If you’re in London for a few days, Jess has a checklist of things she wants to check out to work out how long we need in England. I’ll email it to you and if you could… if you get time, I mean. Glad you sorted it out with Cas although, uh, how exactly did you talk him out of breaking up with you? Actually, I don’t wanna know. That’s… yeah. Keep me out of it. And, Dean, I hear you about the phone calls, okay, but can you work with me here? You were gone for so long and… now you’re back and you tell me what happened and I just… I know you’re doing better, but you… I just need you to call or send me a text or something when you’ve got heavy stuff going on. Please. If you… if you can._

*

Castiel is serious and intense enough that post coital chat is a whole different ballgame. Dean’s loose and comfortable and on the cusp of falling asleep when Cas does crap like say ‘you seem more at peace’ like that’s the kind of thing you should be addressing at two AM after a full day of sightseeing. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, after a minute or so of chewing it over. It’s late. He’s on the cusp of falling asleep which is probably why it’s so easy to be honest. “Guess I finally figured out that, uh, just cause mistrust and anger and crappy self worth come out of a valid hurt, doesn't mean you should keep holding onto it. Yeah, Sam... I needed him and he didn't pull through, but if he can forgive me for knowingly walking out of his life for nearly three frigging years -”

“- you were in survival mode,” 

“Yeah, but so was he, Cas. Dad hurt him, both of us, and he was doing his own running. He needed me to have his back about college and I messed up. I get it. I can see why every dumb thing panned out the way it did. Even _dad_ was in survival mode. Has been since Mom died. Needed us to follow his orders so much so he could tell himself he was doing right by his family, till Sam was out on his own doing great and the guy talked himself into figuring I'd do better on my own too, or else he couldn't handle the guilt. Dunno which, but I know it was something. None of it was okay but I'm pretty sure I've logged the fact that it doesn't necessarily reflect on me. He didn't leave _cause_ of me or cause of Sam. He just… he just left,”

“It astounds me that you underestimate your wisdom when you are so…”

“It’s not wise if it took _this_ to get me there,”

“Dean, you were in pain,”

“Yeah, I’m making peace with it,” Dean says, “Slowly. I’m getting there. It’s just taking some time. There’s some good stuff, too. This is kind of heavy for pillow talk,”

“I wasn't aware there was pillow talk etiquette.”

“Oh yeah, Cas,” Dean says, rolling onto his side and half smiling at him in the dark. 

“What should pillow talk involve?”

“Light crap. Favourite colour. What you wanted to be when you grew up when you were were a kid. That kind of stuff.”

“What did you want to be?”

“Firefighter,” 

“You're very giving. I can certainly see a self-destructive desire to help people beginning at a young age,”

“Nah, dude, I just thought running into burning buildings would be really frigging cool. What about you?”

“An accountant,”

“You're not even screwing with me, are you?” 

“Gabriel reaction was similar,” Gabriel says, “I believe it was indoctrinated in me by Michael. I doubt I had an understanding of what it entailed but…”

“Bet you were cute,” Dean smiles, stretching out his arms and using them to support his head. “Kid Castiel.” 

“I’m sure Gabriel will provide you childhood pictures next time you meet,” Cas says, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, “You should sleep, Dean.”

“Kay,” Dean mutters, closing his eyes, feeling warm and safe and actually _happy_. Cas is confident that Dean’s going to re-meet his brothers. Cas thinks Dean is _giving_. Cas is already frigging taking care of him. Even if Dean’s still sure his no-labels thing is a good idea for right now, it feels a hell of a lot like they’re already in a relationship. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Heya Sam, Cas says that he was apparently supposed to meet you for some nerdy lunch today and that he’s a hundred percent standing you up for because he -_

 _-Dean, I assumed you had mentioned to your brother that I was still -_

 _

\- is still in London. So uh, he’s here. I’m here. We’re headed to Buckingham palace or some other old impressive crap later today when we actually get up. Message me a time you’re gonna be free to talk and we can actually catch up later. We’re having a good time. I gotta catch a boat tomorrow which… sucks, actually, but at least I’m home soon. Just over four weeks, Sammy! Okay, tell me when you’re free. I’ll call you. 

_

*

“You know, you don’t actually have to plan my whole trip, Cas,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow as Cas flicks through the goddamn guide book he picked up about Scandinavian cruises (apparently, Cas knows exactly where to go to get _very_ specific vacation guides), “I’m gonna be working half the time. Squinting out the window at Russia from behind the bar.”

“I thought you only had singing shifts,”

“You really listen to all the crap that comes out of my mouth?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Cas says, completely sincere, “Do you have enough swedish currency?”

“Cas,” Dean interjects, “Look, I'm not too great at being on my own. I got four weeks of just me myself and I and I think I'm gonna go a little crazy. Think it's good for me though. Healthy. I wanna do it. Kinda. But you gotta bare with me,”

They’re in a cafe getting lunch and Dean wishes he’d started this conversation somewhere else almost immediately. It’s too public. Dean’s already being too vulnerable and starting another frigging _talk_ , without it being of a cramped London cafe. 

“I have every intention of _baring with you_ ,”

“Yeah, I’ve picked some of that up over the past couple of days. Just. I dunno if I’m gonna be out of contact or irritating the hell out of you with loads of messages yet. Will you… forgive me for whichever it is? I gotta do this. I need the time to think before… I mean, seeing Sam is a big deal. Frigging _huge_ and I just… I don’t wanna be an asshole about this. You know I… uh, that I’m really glad you rearranged your flights. And if I need to just be out of the office I don’t want you getting back home and feeling like an idiot or like I’m not gonna call you the _second_ I get back Stateside. Earlier. Maybe when we dock tomorrow. I don’t even know yet.”

“I would prefer you to call me,” Cas says, blue gaze crystal clear, “But I understand if you need time,”

“Yeah, okay, but if you _need_ me to call then obviously I’m gonna call,” Dean says, “You need to tell me what’s on your mind, Cas. I get that you’re being accommodating for my issues and, fuck, I appreciate that. But if you’re really freaking and you need me to… be there, then I’m there. From Russia, I mean.” 

Cas lips soften into a smile. 

“And likewise, if you need to discuss Sam, or not discuss Sam, or to send me copious numbers of messages about the ocean, my phone will be turned on.”

“So we have a deal?”

“We have a deal,” Cas agrees.

“Good talk,” Dean says, rolling his shoulders back to shake himself out the moment, “What the hell even is swedish currency?”

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_It was good to talk to you yesterday. You sound good, Dean. Happy. Send me pictures of Copenhagen and Amsterdam. I promise not to give Cas a hard time about flying to London to break up with my brother and shaking up with him instead when we have lunch next week. Let me know when you’re back on the boat._

*

Of the goodbye’s they’ve already done in this thing, their scrubbed together goodbye’s interspersed by dumb smiles and Cas’ eclectic travel tips, is by far the best. He’s totally screwed, as far as Cas is concerned, and three concentrated days of his company has done nothing for his ‘not getting his hopes up’ plan, but he’s finding it a little hard to care.

He’s still grinning like a goddamn idiot when he gets on the train, and he _hates_ trains as a rule, but his good mood might just impenetrable for the time being.

And in four weeks, he’s flying home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such an inexcusable pile of sap


	9. Chapter 9

St Petersburg is lonely, cold and gorgeous. Copenhagen is beautiful, too, and he might be in love with Amsterdam. Tallinn is a frigging wonderland and he thinks Sam probably needs to go to Norway as soon as he can afford to but, honestly, he just wants to be done with _ships_ and the sea and travelling too much to really appreciate this new, exquisite part of the world.

It’s a good backdrop for soul searching. There’s a lot more _space_ than the tourist-ports of the Mediterranean and there’s a different kind of guest. Everywhere is sweeping mountains, green, glaciers, fjords and Dean just wants out. He should have came here first. He feels like if he’d moored up in Scandinavia right after everything he might have sifted through his thoughts a little quicker. It’s that kind of beautiful. The pure, piercing kind that forces perspective on things. He’d already got there the long way, though, so he’s stuck with the same conclusions rattling around the corners of his head and it’s been driving him a little crazy. 

He’s never wanted to get on a plane before, but he’s been itching for the time to pass since he set off from Southampton. 

He wants to see _Sam_ and he wants to see Cas and he wants to be back stateside. 

At least, he does until he’s back on British soil and realises that it’s actually about to happen. 

* 

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Fair warning, Sam, but I am freaking the fuck out about this right now. Just docking at Southampton. It’s raining, like England has any other kind of weather except rain, and uh… flying tomorrow, so I guess it’s less than twenty fours till I’m gonna see you. I don’t really know what the hell I’m supposed to think about that. Spent the last couple of weeks wishing the time away and now, uh, honestly right now I feel like cancelling my damn flight and getting the boat to the freaking Caribbean. I’m not gonna, obviously, it’s time. It’s time to come back. Just uh… if I’m a total dumbass tomorrow, will you cut me a little slack Sammy? This is… this is shaking me to my core and I’m just… well. Guess we can talk about it tomorrow. If I survive the frigging flight, I mean. Should’ve waited till there was a boat back across the atlantic ‘stead of getting into a freaking _death_ machine. Anyway, uh, I gotta get a train to london tonight, which is crap. Little shaky. Feel like a frigging teenage girl stressing over prom. Okay, Sammy. Well, see you tomorrow I guess. _

* 

He’s done the train journey from Southampton to London enough times now that he could probably do it on automatic, but his anxiety has seeped into his bone enough that he checks the damn board four times before he get on the train, lugging all his worldly belongings behind him. He’s _going home_ , if he even has a home anymore, and he’s going to see Sam. 

And Cas, who’s sent him his twenty second message of the day. 

_You’re more likely to be struck by lightning than be killed in a plane crash_. 

Generally, he doesn’t count frigging messages, but today is a special occasion and he needed a little reminder that he might just be returning _to_ something rather than making another great escape. It’s helped calm the angry, nervous tension in his stomach, at least a bit, even if he hasn’t quite managed to eat. 

Dean sits down on one of the seats near enough to the door that he can keep an eye on his suitcase and thumbs at his phone. In the time it took him to get across the station, Cas has sent him another message. 

_Also food poisoning, scalding hot water and falling out of bed._

_Dude, you trying to ruin all of my favourite things?_ Dean types out, taking a deep breath as the train pulls out of the station. He’s actually on his way. One more night in some crappy airport hotel, then a flight from hell, then he’s going to be stateside. 

_Scalding hot water is one of your favourite things?_

_Hot showers_. 

_And this is preferable to sex?_

_Please don’t tell me THAT’S more likely to kill me than flying_. Dean texts back, putting in his headphones and squaring his shoulders. He feels a little sick. None of this feels quite real. Cas and his twenty five text messages doesn’t feel real. _Shower sex?_

_Almost definitely more dangerous than air travel_ , Castiel returns, almost immediately. 

Twenty six. 

That’s probably more text messages than they’ve exchanged over the past week put together. 

They’ve done phone calls twice since London and a couple of blase messages a day, like back when Dean was on the ship before he called Cas. It’s been a good attempt at pretending this _thing_ they’re doing is casual, even if it’s anything but. His feelings for Cas are near enough the exact opposite of casual which is sobering and terrifying and maybe a good thing. 

It’s probably a bad idea to be in so deep when his life is so fragile at the moment. 

_I am very much looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, Dean._

Tomorrow. 

He’s got a train journey, a night in a crappy hotel and a flight from hell until then. 

* 

You have one new message. 

_  
Hey, Dean. We’ve made up the room for you. I said you like red meat so Jess went a little overboard so, uh, hope you’re up for steaks. Pretty sure she’s as nervous as you. She mopped. I’ve never seen her even vacuum before and I didn’t know we had a mop. I told her it’ll be fine. I’m… I’m really looking forward to seeing you, Dean. Cas is too. I mean, a lot. We both are. If you survive your flight, I mean. I’m pretty optimistic. See you tomorrow, Dean._

* 

A new kind of panic hits him after he’s checked into his generic, airport-adjacent hotel room. It’s all cream and purple and impersonal enough to exacerbate his sudden identity crisis, that kicks in slowly and then all at once. 

For two and a half years, he got to give up having an identity all together. He just existed. Got up, worked, ate, drank, slept. He didn’t talk about Sam, or John Winchester, or Bobby, or Ellen, or anyone. He didn’t talk about before. Things were beginning to shift before Cas showed up, but there was still freedom in the fact that no one knew who he was. There was no expectation or judgement. No one know a damn thing about him. 

There was freedom in it. A bitter, crappy kind of freedom that he doesn’t want for a minute, but it’s still huge to let go of being anonymous again; just to walk back into an approximation of his old life and be that person again, when he’s not altogether sure he was that person in the first place. He’d been putting on a show for Sam. That was kind of how they got into this mess in the first place, because Sam didn’t _know_ he needed help. 

Now, he’s bleed his soul over voicemail and exchanged barbed truths with Bobby and he’s told Castiel more about the broken parts of himself than he’s ever told anyone. He’d started the process, sure, but it’s… 

Both Sam and Cas said they’d see him tomorrow. Tomorrow. Together. At the same damn time, probably. He’s going to see them _at the same time_ and he has no idea how that hadn’t occurred to him before right now. 

He calls Charlie. 

“I came out to my brother by voicemail,” Dean says, the second Charlie answers the phone (which he almost wasn’t expecting, given he lost track of where she is and had no concept of what time zone she could be in), “Who the hell does that?” 

“Hello Dean, how was Russia? Fine thanks, Charlie, except for the fact that apparently I’ve lost my mind, now.” 

“That ship sailed a long time ago, Bradbury,” 

“Hah, boat jokes,” Charlie says. 

“Charlie,” Dean says, voice pained. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m listening,” Charlie says, “From India, just FYI.” 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” 

“Spoken like someone who doesn’t have a netflix account,” 

“You gave me your password,” 

“And don’t think I haven’t totally judged your watched history,” Charlie says, “You came out to Sam via voicemail, huh?” 

“Before he started answering,” Dean says. 

“Ooh-kay,” Charlie says. 

“And, by proxy, my substitute-father because he listened to the damn message too. I hadn’t spoken to them in two years and now my brother is best friends with my... with Cas. They're buddies, Charlie, and they're gonna wanna hang out together. The three of us. I got no frigging idea how to be with a guy around my _brother_.” 

“Dude, I don’t wanna go all gender blind on you here, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same as being with a girl around your brother,” 

“It was that easy for you, huh?” 

“I mean, it kind of helped that my parents were dead,” Charlie says, “And I knew I was into the ladies before I knew the word for being into ladies. Your brother was cool, right?” 

“Yeah, he was fine,” Dean says, “This is my problem, not Sam’s. Not Bobby’s, either. I just… Damnit. It’s not like I’ve done the girl thing round them for a long time, either. Last time I introduced Sam to a fucking girlfriend I was at high school, or supposed to be. It’s a lot.” 

“Uhuh,” Charlie agrees, “I’m thinking this is just one of those things that sucks a lot more when you’re thinking about it than when it’s actually happening.” 

“Yeah, maybe. But I’ve got a ten hour frigging flight of thinking about it and then they’re gonna be _right there_ and then… damnit, Charlie, Thanksgiving. Bobby’s coming. Sam will have invited Cas, a hundred percent, and I think I’m gonna lose my mind.” 

“Good job I’m a leading table top strategist,” 

“Huh?” 

“Divide and conquer, bitches,” Charlie says,”Specifically, divide into things you can actually stop. Cas has probably done the coming out thing, Dean, you could tell him not to come to the airport.” 

“Yeah,” Dean exhales, “Really wanna see the guy tomorrow, though.” 

“More than you’re freaking about him and Sam bonding?” 

“Got used to that concept, in theory.” 

“Think about it,” Charlie says, “I have an appointment with a dreamy warrior princess in my unconsciousness. Keep me updated.” 

“Rodger that,” Dean says, locking his phone and staring at the opposite wall, settling into his headspace for the final night he’s gonna be spending on a different continent to his whole family for a long time. 

* 

You have one new message. 

_Hey Dean. Guessing you’re asleep. Try not to stress too much about the flight. You just have to survive ten hours, Dean. That’s it. Just listen to Metallica. Try and sleep. Don’t drink too much. Find some western on the in-flight entertainment and pretend you’re in the impala._

* 

He calls Cas from the boarding gate when he can’t sit on his freak out any longer. 

“Hello Dean,” 

“Hey. I know we already did the see you on the other side crap and we were texting rather than calling, but I'm about to get on this plane and I gotta ask you a favour. But before it comes out all wrong just remember the part where I'm cute and you like me,” Dean says, foot glued to the floor, as the dregs of his fellow passengers on the plane join the depleting cue. He’s been fully intending to be the last one onto the flight to minimise the torture, but he’s still running out of time. 

“You are cute,” Cas says, “What's going on, Dean?” 

“So, uh, if my brother has invited you to Thanksgiving I'd really appreciate it if you didn't come.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“You don't want me to come to Thanksgiving?” 

“It's ... I just realised I came out to my frigging brother by voicemail and _Bobby/_ and I get that you guys are friends and I gotta get used to you and Sam and _me and you_ when Sam's there but I've never even _met_ Jess and I dunno who else is gonna come out the woodwork but I just don't think I got the freak out space to deal with it all at once. I wanna talk to Bobby first. Get a read on it.” 

“Okay,” 

“Okay?” Dean asks, voice coming out a little strangled, but that’s mostly the mounting anxiety about getting on this goddamn plane. 

“I can see why you would want it to be a family occasion,” Cas says, “I’ll make my apologies to Sam.” 

“So he did invite you?” 

“He did,” Cas says, “I had… wondered whether my presence would be… intrusive,” 

“You’re not intruding, it’s just I’m a head case,” 

“You’re not a head case,” 

“Cas, I’m practically holding up this flight cause I’m such a head case.” 

“Get your plane, Dean,” Cas says, voice tipping over into gentle. Dean’s got no idea what fucking time it is for Cas, but he has a feeling it’s an antisocial one. His voice is rougher when he’s half asleep. 

“Just gotta keep reminding myself about the ladders for ten fucking hours,” 

“Personally, I’d concentrate on the shower sex,” 

“Cause that’s gonna freaking help,” 

“A welcome distraction, I’d say,” Cas says, his smile audible, “You’ll be fine.” 

Even _Cas_ can’t convince him of that. 

* 

His heart is thudding loud enough to give him a headache as he steps through the arrivals gate. Then it sinks through the floor because it’s just _Cas_ there. He could spot Sam’s mop of hair, shoulders above the rest, and he’s not there. He’s not in arrivals. He didn’t come. 

Sam didn’t come. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas says. 

“Hey,” Dean says, forcing a smile that he’s sure makes him look slightly ill. He _feels_ sick and not just because of Sam’s absence, either. He spent the last hour of the flight chanting ‘more likely to die from a ladder’ to himself to try and ease his heart rate. He’s sticky and stressed and needs a double whiskey. 

“Good flight?” 

“No such thing,” Dean grunts, letting Cas pull him into a hug. “Can you, uh, watch my bag. I gotta take a leak.” 

“Of course,” 

He wants to change but he didn’t think far enough ahead to bring anything. He splashes his face with cold water, though, and takes a minute to acclimatise to being on solid ground. 

_American_ ground, even. He survived. He’s home, maybe. He’s _staying_ with Sam, so it’s not like the kid’s changed his mind about the whole damn thing. He just… couldn’t come to the airport. Something must have come up. He’s still got Cas here. 

Sam never said he'd come to the airport. He'd just... assumed from the casual 'see you tomorrow's' and the fact that Sam never provided him with an address. Cas didn't say he was coming either. He didn't _ask_ so it doesn't _mean_ anything that this is the way they divvied up the labour. 

It's a good thing that Castiel is meeting him from the airport. It means he'll have time to feel less nauseous from the flight before he sees him. It means he'll have managed to build up the _moment_ he sees Sam up even more in his head, but maybe the drive to Sam’s place is just what he needs to get his shit together. 

“Hey,” Dean says, walking back across the arrivals gate feeling a little less shaky. Cas looks good. Even better than last time. Happier. He’d be smiling if it wasn’t for the concerned tilt of his lips. 

“Are you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah,” Dean exhales, smiles. “Faster we get away from this place, the better I'll feel. Give me my bag,” Dean says, as Cas sets off towards the door, lugging Deans crap with him. 

“I'm more than capable of carrying it,” 

“But it's my damn bag,” “ 

“Dean,” 

“I ain't a teenage girl, Cas,” Dean complains, holding a hand out for the damn thing. 

“This is a very good thing given how attached I am to my liberty,” Cas counters, grip resolutely around the handle of his case. 

“Oh, you're funny,” 

“You look very pale,” 

“Just losing my tan,” Dean says, even though that’s not true. He is, though. After two years of sun skipping he got used to being permanently freckled. He’s losing colour. 

“Dean,” 

“At least give me the frigging wheely case,” Dean says, which he does and Dean takes the opportunity to kiss him. He didn't do that before. He should've done it the second he saw the guy. He _hopes_ he didn't pick up on the fact that he was disappointed in the first instant he saw Cas alone. He wasn’t disappointed because of _Cas_. He’s not sure he could be. “Hey, I get to see your wheels,” Dean says, once they're out the door. The air is a blessed relief. He feels a little less deathly all ready. 

“Well,” Cas says, then Dean stops. His legs just give up on motion. He's just winded. There's no air left in his lungs and he's frozen solid and paralysed and _so so goddamn relieved_. 

Sam Winchester is stood outside the impala, twisting the key through his fingers. 

Cas gently takes the handle of his suitcase back off him. 

“Hey Dean,” Sam says, and that's it. He's done. He's crossed the space without even thinking. Sam's all glistening eyes and that smile that breaks him every single time, then he's pulling his little brother into a hug. 

“Hey Sammy,” 

“Dean,” Sam says, balling his fists into Dean's shirt. 

He doesn't know how he couldn't have left Sam. 

“Your hair looks even dumber in real life,” Dean says into his shoulder, then Sam pulls back to beam at his, eyes shining. 

“Here,” Sam says, holding out the car keys and stepping back. 

“Hey baby,” Dean says, running a hand over her hood. She's still gorgeous. He left her to rot in _storage_ for two frigging years, but Sam's been looking after her. Just cleaned her. This car saved his life. If it hadn't been for the impala, he might have - might not have got this - might have missed this. 

“Sorry I left you baby. I aint letting you out of my _sight_ again.” 

“You wanna drive?” 

“Like you're getting these keys off me,” Dean says, pulling his gaze away from his baby, flicking back to Sam and Cas. The pair of them. Together. 

Sam looks choked up on enough emotions that he's just barely not crying (which... Dean is the one who cries) and the way that Cas reverently runs a hand over the hood of the trunk after he shuts it doesn't escape unnoticed. 

“Are you, uh, okay to drive?” 

“You mean, am I sober enough to?” Dean asks, voice hardening a little. Sam gestures an apologetic yes that grate over his nerves. That's how it's gonna be, then. “Yeah, Sam, I’m a fucking mormon.” 

“Dude, I remember you white knuckling through six sick bags on a four hours flight,” Sam says, “It’s not wild to think you’d drink your way through ten hours,” 

“I was a kid,” 

“You were thirteen.” 

“Twelve,” 

“Thirteen,” Sam corrects, with his long frigging hair and his _smile_. 

“Hey, screw you,” Dean says, opening the door of the impala and sitting down. She’s the same as ever. Beautiful, solid, perfect. His chest aches, but Sam is right there. This is good. This is the best thing he’s done for years. 

Cas slides into the back seat and Dean catches his eye in the windscreen mirror. 

“You like my baby?” 

HIs smile crinkles the corner of his eyes as he says a simple “yes” that makes Dean feel toe-curlingly-happy. Fuck. 

Sam slides into the seat next to him. 

“So how was Russia?” 

“Cold,” Dean throws back, “You gonna tell me where we’re going or I gotta guess?” 

“Right,” Sam says, “Cas is coming over for food.” 

“Awesome,” 

“Take a left out of the parking lot,” Sam says. His bullshit singer songwriter crap blares out the stereo the second Dean turns on the engine, which stirs up a mix of angry affection, till Sam ejects the tape with a barely sorry shrug. Frigging little brothers. “Seriously, Dean, how was Scandinavia? You’ve been a little… awol the past couple of weeks.” 

True. He called a few times, but the enforced period of thinking made him more than a little homesick. Talking to Sam kind of made his purgatory a little worse. 

“Didn’t have Charlie to hack me into the good wifi,” Dean says, spreading his fingers on the wheel, accidentally glancing at Cas again. “It was fine,” 

“Fine?” 

“Dude, can we save the digging into my emotional state until I’ve at least showered away this plane funk? Can still feel it crawling over my damn skin.” 

“Okay, Dean,” Sam says, defensive. 

“I just wanted to get back here, okay? Talking ‘bout it wasn’t making the time faster.” 

“Okay 

, “Okay,” 

“Take the next right,” 

“Okay,” Dean exhales, “You okay back there, Cas?” 

“Yes,” Cas says and doesn’t elaborate. 

As car journey’s go, it’s awkward and tense and a little quiet, but it’s still a frigging benediction to be back behind the wheel of his baby with his little brother. And Cas. 

* 

Jess is gorgeous, smart and nervous as hell as Sam does the introductions. It must have been strange for her. For a lot of their relationship, Dean was a ghost in Sam’s life; an important jigsaw piece that she probably assumed she’d never get to meet before the voicemails started rolling in. He’s got no idea how she must have felt about him. 

If he were Jess, he’d probably hate Dean for the crap he put Sam through. He’s going to try not to think about that too hard right now. 

“So this is, uh, your room,” Sam says, standing in the doorway of the spare room. The car journey was apparently enough to knock loose some of Sam’s bravado about the whole thing, till he’s trying a little too hard and a little lost of what to say. He should’ve expected it to be like this at first, but it still sucks. 

“Looks great, Sam,” Dean says, dumping his duffle bag at the foot of his bed. “Whole place is great.” 

“It’s nothing special,” Sam says, “We’re both studying and…” 

“Its great,” Dean says again. It is, too. It’s small enough that Dean reckons they have a month’s grace period until they start getting under each other’s feet, but there’s a nice feel to the place. There’s enough homely crap to make it feel like it’s definitely Sam-and-Jess’ place without their being nauseating artefacts of their relationship everywhere. 

“Can, I, uh, you want a drink?” Sam flails. He looks a little like he’s seeking Jess for backup, but she stayed out of the tour. Probably to give them space. 

“Shower,” Dean says, “If that doesn’t mess up food plans.” 

“We haven’t started yet. Wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry,” 

“I could eat,” Dean shrugs, glancing between them. “So I’m gonna shower and you two, uh, know each other so that’s… that’s fine,” 

“Dean,” Sam says, “Towels.” 

“Yes, that’s be… yeah,” Dean says, as Sam disappears back into his room to locate a towel. “Welcome to mi casa, I guess,” Dean says to Cas, kicking his duffle bag a little out of the way and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I have been here before,” 

“Right,” Dean swallows, as Cas sits down next to him, “Figures.” 

“Dean, if you need time alone with your brother -” 

“ - No. I mean, I do, but right now we both need a buffer. Anyway it’s, uh, really good to see you, Cas.” 

“It’s been a long four weeks,” 

“Hell time works differently, I guess,” 

“It’s been that bad?” Cas asks, frowning at him. 

“Nah, not really,” Dean says, “Just impatient. And now I don’t know what the hell to do with it all.” 

“Give yourself some time,” 

“I have had so much fucking time,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, his mouth just so, so he doesn’t really have much choice but to lean forward and kiss him. 

Of course, that’s the moment Sam reenters with the towel. Of course, Dean’s a total idiot and springs away from the guy like he’s been electrocuted, even though Sam almost definitely doesn’t give a damn. Of course, he can’t handle this situation like a well adjusted person. Goddamnit. 

“Use whatever you need in the bathroom,” Sam says as Dean does his best not to look at either of them. He’s too off-kilter to think of an insult about Sam’s hair products, even, and just grabs the towel and leaves them both in his now-bedroom like a complete dumbass. 

The shower helps. 

“Are you feeling better?” Cas asks, when he reemerges in fresh clothes, hair still damp, having had enough time to remind himself that _this_ is what’s been keeping him going for the past four weeks. Having dinner with Sam and Cas and Jess has been fuel through the cold isolation of Scandinavian waters. This is good. This is what he needs. 

“Yeah,” Dean exhales, pulling up the seat next to Cas. “Never getting on a plane again.” 

“Good,” 

That’s a nice word to hear from Cas. Nice smile. Just, nice. 

“Sam and Jess?” 

“The kitchen,” Cas says. 

“Before,” Dean says, “Crappy reflexes. Nothing to do with you.” 

“It’s okay,” 

“It aint,” Dean counters, dragging his chair a little closer, “Today has not been my finest hour.” 

“I’m very happy about today, Dean,” Cas says, sincere enough that Dean can’t really doubt it.?

“Guess I get to see you on your home turf,” Dean says, “Hey, how’d Gabriel take the outcome of your transcontinental dumping mission?” 

“He hung up on me,” Cas says, “I think he’s waiting to stage an intervention which is highly unnecessary.” 

“Bad news for me,” Dean says, “I pissed off the brothers,” 

“Only Gabriel was involved,” Cas says, “And I generally count irritating Gabriel as a positive. Just desserts for nearly three decades of being highly annoying. Also, you are wonderful, so he can screw himself,” 

When Sam comes into the front room to offer them something to drink a few minutes later, they’re kissing again. This time, Dean manages not to freak the fuck out, so he’s making a little progress. 

* 

His pictures of Russia, Amsterdam, Berlin and the rest are enough to sustain their conversation through most of dinner and Jess saves them all when that peeters out. Jess is as sweet as she is sarcastic and she has Sam wrapped round her little finger. Cas calls her ‘Jessica’ and Dean spends half the meal with a hand resting on the back of his chair. They have burgers - handmade by Jess - and it’s made clear by thirty seconds in that she’s only cooking because it’s a special occasion and that they live most of their lives as proper students, with rush-job meals and take out. She doesn’t believe salad is a real food and Sam is the only person who disagrees with her. 

They’re settling on _light_ topics, but Dean still drinks his first beer too fast and feels too many eyes watching him. They’re all happy, but it’s an uneasy, awkward kind of happy that hovers in the silence whenever they break. Dean’s not the only one who doesn’t know what to do with all of this. 

It’s a big deal. 

Apparently, Sam spent two months as a vegetarian. 

“I couldn’t take a veggie home to my parents,” Jess says, animated, burger in hand, “I mean, I want them to _like_ Sam, and they don’t tolerate that kind of business,” 

“Damn straight, Sam. I raised you better than that,” 

“The weekend before we were due to drive out, I took him to this burger restaurant. Best burger’s in the state and Sam orders a garden salad,” 

“Dude,” Dean says, “Listen to your woman,” 

“He did _the face_ when our food came.” 

“I don’t have a ‘face’,” Sam says, bitchface instated. 

“I have seen the face,” Cas puts in, which is fucking hilarious, and sparks something warm in his gut when inspires him shift the hand on the back of Cas’ chair to his shoulder. 

“Let him pine for ten minutes,” Jess says, turning to smile at Sam, eyes sparkling, “Then I said I’d swap him if he promised never to tell my dad about the vegetarian slip. He nearly cried at the first bite.” 

“As much as Sam’s a frigging cry baby, I think I need me one of these burgers,” Dean grins, “Cas, how about it we check it out some point this week?” 

“I’m unavailable this week,” Cas frowns, looking down at his plate. 

“How come?” 

“I’m flying out to see my brothers for Thanksgiving,” 

“I said you could join us, Cas,” Sam says. 

“It was a very kind offer, Sam, but I haven’t seen Michael or Lucifer since the cruise. If I don’t show my face, they’re likely to force me to host Christmas.” 

“When?” 

“Tuesday,” Cas says, expression apologetic, which Dean doesn’t deserve. He’s the one who banned Cas from freaking Thanksgiving, after all. Damnit. “Just for a week.” 

“A week? That sucks. We could do tomorrow?” 

“You just got back,” Cas says, “Perhaps you should settle in.” 

He means _perhaps you should hang out with Sam_ , which is… fair enough. He should hang out with Sam. He really should. He wants to. It’s just… it kind of feels like it’ll be easier if he’s had a chance to see Cas first. 

He’s actually seen Cas within the last two fucking years, unlike Sam, so it doesn’t mess with his head so much. He needs some space to regroup and Cas is the only excuse he has to leave Sam’s flat. He doesn’t start work for another week. It seemed like a good idea at the time, now it’s a prison sentence with his own freaking thoughts. 

“Tomorrow’s date night, anyway,” Jess says, glancing between them. “Right, Sam?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, after a pause just long enough that Dean’s sure she’s kicked him under the table. Holy shit, but he might love Jessica Moore. “Date night.” 

Nobody’s ever had date night on a Monday, but Dean’s not about to make an issue of it. 

“Awesome,” Dean says and he thinks he might mean it. 

* 

He needs a drink. Sam is two years older, with his long hair, serious girlfriend and his undergraduate degree. There’s a picture of his graduation stuck on the fridge and Bobby’s the only person in attendance. It was _this_ summer. He was so close to pulling his head out of his ass, but he’s never gonna be in those pictures now. He screwed up. He missed it and he _can’t get that back_. 

He’s got no fucking idea why Sam would clear out their spare room for him to stay there. He doesn’t deserve it for a hot minute. 

“I’ll drop you home, Cas,” Dean drags out of throat, because then he _has_ to forgo the next beer, or swapping onto something stronger. It gets him out of this room, too. 

“Okay,” Cas acquesties without further argument, draining the last of hs beer and glancing towards his coat, “If you’re ready now,” 

Dean stands up and digs the keys out of his jacket pocket. Sam’s turned the frigging puppy eyes and it looks a little like he wants to ask if Dean’s coming back tonight. He’s the exact opposite of in the right headspace for that, though. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even wanna see Cas’ apartment right now. The exhaustion of the damn flight is creeping up on him again. He needs to sleep, impossible as that sounds. He doesn’t wanna screw up the little reunion any more than he has already. 

“Back in an hour tops, Sam,” Dean says, twisting the keys round his fingers. 

Cas doesn’t ask him how he’s doing on the walk back down to the car. Doesn’t say anything at all, in fact, which is just exactly what he needs. 

“You’re gonna have to give me directions,” 

“Have you considered a sat nav?” Cas deadpans back. 

“No crap is douching up my baby,” Dean says, “Only reason Sam didn’t hook up some ipod jack is cause he knows I’d kill him in his sleep,” 

“You love this car,” 

“She was Dad’s. Bought her fresh out of the marines. Told my Mom he was gonna buy a family car and came back with baby. She was, as it turns out,” 

“Was your mother irritated?” 

“Fell in love on sight,” Dean says, “That’s the story, anyway. Guess I’ll never know,” 

“You don’t remember her?” Cas says, “It’s a left, here.” 

“Oh yeah,” Dean says, “Remember meatloaf and apple pie. She used to call me ‘her Dean’ and cut the crusts off my sandwiches. Got no idea about her opinions on anything. I just know -” 

“ - that she loved you,” Cas fills in, “Straight ahead,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “Sam, too. I remember the fire. Remember being asleep and waking up to her screaming. Dad, too. He, uh, he was downstairs watching TV. My bedroom was nearest the stairs. There was this _heat_... and then Dad was pounding up the stairs, yelling. He got Sammy out the nursery - that’s where it started, where she was - then he passes him to me and tells me to go, run. I go haring out onto the street with Sam clutched to my chest. Our house just, burning in front of me. Someone called the fire brigade. They dragged Dad out of the wreck. He was conscious. He was okay, he’d just been trying to get to Mom but… she’d been yelling to my Dad to get Sam out. I wouldn’t let go of him for anyone. They kept trying to… to make sure he was okay, I guess. Check he hadn’t inhaled a lungful of smoke, but I wouldn’t let go of him, I couldn’t. Dad makes a break from the paramedics to get to me and he says ‘we gotta look after Sammy, Dean’ and that was it. No one told me she was gone, they just… gave up trying to get her out.” 

“It’s this turning,” Cas says, voice low. 

“Right,” Dean says, blinking, “Sorry,” 

“What happened next?” 

“The house was a write off. They never, uh, they never worked out what started the fire. Went down on the file as suspicious. Dad… he got obsessed trying to make them work it out, at first. He wanted a full scale investigation. He wanted an answer. Got so caught up in that it took a while to… to figure stuff out. We were living in a motel that point. Cause the fire wasn’t cut and dry, the insurance took a long time to come through and Dad was too choked up with grief to work so we couldn’t… we didn’t pitch up and settle for years after that. He tried. I’m not… I aint defending him, but he tried. He just never got a handle on any of it. So we just… looked after Sammy. Till we both checked out and abandoned him,” 

“Left after the traffic light,” Cas says, “Sam is doing very well, Dean,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “He is. He’s an adult, Cas. When I took off he’d only just stopped being a teenager. He was a brat. I mean, a genius, smart, wonderful kid, but he… things have changed a lot. I missed a lot.” 

“You’ve both changed a great deal, from what I’ve heard. You’re back now.” 

“Guess so,” Dean says, forcing his voice back into casual, “Anyway, she was passed down to me on my seventeenth birthday. Dad said he had to go away on a business trip and fobbed me off with some line about fuel economy, but, still, best birthday ever.” 

“I’m just on the left,” Cas says, as Dean glances up and pulls over, turning the engine off before turning to look at him. “She is a beautiful car,” 

“Bonus points for picking up on the she,” Dean says, “Thanks for tonight and, uh, I didn’t mean to drive you out of town for Thanksgiving,” 

“You have some healing to do with your family, I understand.” 

“That,” Dean agrees, “Still feel like a douchebag for it,” 

“No need,” Cas says, “Do you want to come in?” 

“Not tonight. Need to sleep for a week. Rain check?” 

“Of course,” Cas says, “Tell Jessica her burgers were excellent and thank Sam for his hospitality,” 

“Dude, you already did. Pretty sure they got it.” 

“And goodnight, Dean,” 

“Night,” Dean says, leaning forwards to kiss him and, okay, he could get used to this. 

* 

“Did you check out Cas’ place?” Sam asks, after he’s got back and got himself another beer. Just beer and it’s been an hour since his last. He can allow himself that. Dean shakes his head and twists the beer cap off in his hands. “Huh. You take a wrong turning? You’ve been gone for a while.” 

“Just driving,” Dean returns, taking a seat opposite his little brother and meeting his gaze head on, “Look, I get that we’ve got a lot of talking to get through…” 

“But you’re tired,” 

“Freaking exhausted,” Dean agrees. 

“Sleep, Dean,” Sam says, blinking his Sam eyes at him, “It’s been a long day. We’ll talk tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever you want. I’m just really glad you’re here.” 

“Roger that,” Dean says, “Not trying to avoid you, with tomorrow.” 

“Hey, if it means I’ll have less of you pining over Cas in my front room -” 

“ - who says I’m pining, asshole?” 

“Please, Dean, you really like him.” 

“I don’t pine,” 

“I saved all your voicemails, Dean. We can listen to your pinning right now.” 

“Hark who’s fucking talking,” Dean counters, “Mr failed vegetarian. You’re so whipped you could be the star of the next fifty shades of lame,” 

“I’m not ashamed of being into my girlfriend,” Sam smirks at him, “You like her?” 

“She’s really great, Sam. Way out of your league,” Dean says, “I’d slip her my number and get her to run off with the better looking Winchester, but I think it’d piss Cas off.” Sam exhales a laugh. “So, I think I’m gonna hit the ha but, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sammy.” 

Sam echos back a ‘see you tomorrow’ that sounds almost reverent, like his little brother can’t quite believe he gets to say it. 

That thought keeps him up half the night, jet lag be damned. 

* 

You have one new voicemail. 

_Hey, Dean. Me and Jess have got class, but you seemed pretty zonked out last night so we figured you were still asleep. There’s bacon for breakfast, if you want, or just… dig around. Eat whatever you want. You have to hit the button twice on the coffee machine for it to start. If it doesn’t work then just turn it off and on and it should be fine. Uh, I wrote the name of that burger place on a note on the fridge, too. The wifi code is there too if you need it. And Jess’ number, if you need anything and I can’t pick up. We’ll probably by both out till about five. Call if you need anything and, just, sorry we missed you this morning. Okay. Have a good day. Bye._

* 

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Dude, you said you have to hit the button twice, not if you hit the button three times the Coffepocolypse will reign down on you. You got a laundrette in this place? I got coffee places you don’t wanna know about it. Enjoy your classes, dork. I’m picking Cas up at six so I’ll check in with before I go out. Awesome._

* 

You have one new voicemail. 

_Hey, sorry, I was in the library. And you really don’t want to press it three times, I should’ve… I thought I said that. Jess said we should have written you a crib sheet. Anyway, there’s a machine in the basement but it’s… I should probably show you. Jess says it’s possessed. It know it’s a little… unique, but the rents really cheap and ah, so. The coffee machine is the worst bit, I promise. I think Jess might be getting held up at work, but we’ll try and be back before you leave._

* 

You have reached the Voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone. 

_Hey Sam. Bet you thought we were done with this shtick now, huh? Anyway, I’m uh… I’m gonna stay at Cas’ tonight and drive him to the airport in the morning. My bad for ditching out on you so soon. Just letting you know. Catch you tomorrow, Sammy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially in the realm of post-original-plan but pre-end... hah, sure it'll be finneeee.


	10. Chapter 10

You have one new message.

_Hey Dean, so, uh - neither me or Jess know where you are. We know you came home from Cas’ place because you cleaned the kitchen and it’s been hours, but you're not… look, Dean, I'm not trying to be invading your personal space, or whatever, but I'm worried. Can you just… call me. Leave a note on the fridge or something._

* 

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester.

_Hey, Sammy. I'm at the beach. A beach. Didn't mean to… look, I'm not meaning to freak you out but the upshot of this whole frigging thing is that I'm a head case, okay? And I can't act like that's not how I am just to keep you happy. I tried and it tanked, hard and I'm… that sounded like I'm blaming you, which I ain't. Damnit. I'm just trying to say: if you're expectin’ me to be okay because I'm home, then I'm gonna disappoint you. I'm in much better shakes than I was, Sam, but I'm still the guy who screwed up his whole goddamn life over a fight with his teenage brother. Whatever. I dropped Cas off at the airport this morning and then I had my stupid ass therapy. Pretty sure I told you about that. If I didn't, there you go. Counselling. Fucking awesome. I guess I just got to feeling pretty shitty about this whole thing - about leaving and then coming back and wrecking your life, about driving Cas out of town for freaking thanksgiving. You definitely don’t know about that. I told him not to come. Asked him not to, so, he wasn't being rude. That was me being an asshole cause I don't find it all that easy being, uh, I guess just being with a guy in front of you. That was one of those things you weren't supposed to know about me cause I - I know you wouldn't cause you're a freaking hippy in California with your liberal views at whatever, but you weren't ever supposed to think of me as weak. Hilarious, huh? So I asked Cas not to come to Thanksgiving and I missed your graduation and I just felt really… Look, I'm just calling to say that I was feeling pretty crazy after therapy and I wanted to be by the sea. Well, no, I wanted to go to a fucking bar and drink my weight in whatever was cheapest, but I comprised by googling where the nearest beach was and driving. I know it's freaking November and it's cold as balls. I know I'm picking Bobby up from the airport tomorrow. I just… I need some time, Sam, because I'm a mess and getting back here doesn't mean I'm fixed yet. Okay, well. I'm gonna head back now. I'd appreciate it if you hid your borbon and asked Bobby not to bring any of the good stuff while acting like it was your idea and you're trying to protect my sorry ass so I can still get annoyed about it. In a bit, Sammy._

* 

Sam is all puppy eyes and awkward too long limbs when they run into each other in the kitchen after Dean’s gotten back to the apartment later than he meant to be back, because he couldn’t remember Sam’s freaking address and wound up driving round Palo Alto totally freaking lost. It helped. It helped to be driving without clear direction, caught up in wherever traffic was going until he started recognising bits and pieces of again. He almost felt better and now he’s avoiding Sam’s eye in the kitchen and hit by a sudden wave of _doubt_. 

There’s this chance that he can’t make this work. Not just living with Sam and Jess, because that always had to be temporary, but _all_ of it: Castiel, California, America. His fucking life. 

“Look,” Sam says, trying to make himself smaller by practically folding himself in two, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make things more difficult by inviting Cas to Thanksgiving.” 

“I know that,” Dean says, voice thick and awkward as he gets himself a beer, even though he probably shouldn’t. “Not your fault.” 

“No, I should have asked you,” Sam says, “I already… you told me you found it weird me being friends with Cas and I should’ve… should’ve butted out like you asked me to, I just… I hadn’t seen you for so long and he had. I just wanted to feel like you were... walking into somewhere familiar.” 

“I, yeah, I get it. I’m not mad that you’re friends with Cas. It’s great, actually.” 

“But still, Dean, it’s your relationship.”

“It’s not,” Dean says, “Not a relationship yet.”

“But you’re headed that way.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t know, Sam, I’ve been here two minutes okay. I don’t know what the hell is going on with me. I don’t know what’s going on with Cas, okay? I don’t know. I don’t know if he even _wants_ -”

“ - he does,”

“ - if I’ve even got the capacity right now to be in a freaking relationship.” 

“You do,” Sam says, all coaxing and supportive and then suddenly Dean’s _pissed off_ , because Sam did impose by inviting Cas to freaking thanksgiving and he can’t fucking apologise for it while imposing into his headspace at the same time. He doesn’t get to _decide_ what Dean is and isn’t capable of when they haven’t even seen each other. Sam wasn’t there. 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t _know_.

“You don’t get to make that call,” Dean snaps, voice rising. “You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t do.”

“You’ve been doing that my whole life, Dean,” Sam snaps back and _damnit_ , he didn’t want them to argue. He didn’t know they were the close to this whole thing bubbling over, but now his chest is constricting and that ugly part of himself that’s insecure and hurt and needy is rearing it’s head.

“Don’t act like I’m anything like Dad. Cause you know what, Sam? I spent a lot of my life trying to be like Dad, but only one of us ever got anywhere _close_.”

“Hi,” Jess says, stood in the doorway of the kitchen in her smurf pajamas, glancing between them. Her expression is neutral but she’s heard at least some of the barbed words they’ve been throwing at each other and now her level gaze is glancing between them.

It hits him again how much Jess must hate him for ruining Sam’s life.

Dean grabs another two beers and runs away to the spare room like a wounded animal.

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester.

_So I’m an asshole. I’m an asshole for last night and, uh, hiding in my room until I had to go pick Bobby up this morning because I didn’t wanna talk to you.. I’m… I’m at the airport. Bobby’s flight should get in in twenty minutes then I’m gonna come back to your place and not be an asshole. That’s the plan, anyway. I, uh, I should have seen us clashin’ coming. I hurt you, I get that, and you’ve had a lot of time to think of all the ways that me bringing you up ruined my life and - I’m, damnit Sam, if you don’t think this is gonna work you can tell me and I won’t… I won’t disappear. I can find somewhere else to stay and we can still do the talking-it-out thing. I’m not bailing on you again, but if you can’t live with me right there all the goddamn time… I get it. Okay, Sam. See you in a couple of hours._

*

Seeing Bobby knocks all the air out of his lungs even before Bobby pulls him into a gruff hug and tells him he’s the world’s biggest idjit and releases him again. 

“I’m sorry Bobby,” Dean says, weakly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s not really sure how he forgot about Bobby. He’s not sure why he didn’t turn tail and drive to Sioux Falls instead of getting on a fucking boat, because the number of times Bobby’s let his drunk ass sleep it out on the couch and cooked him breakfast the next morning without telling him he was a waste of space is more than he could count. Bobby would have listened to him.

“Me too, kid,” Goddamnit. “How’s california treating you?” 

“I’ve driven Castiel out the state and told Sam he’s just like Dad, so uh… you could say that I’m fucking everything up again. Then again, the weather’s pretty mild. Helluva lot nicer than Russia.” 

“Were you thinkin’ you’d drop back here and everything would be a-okay?” 

“No,”

“Then you give it the time it needs,” Bobby says, as they trudge back to the Impala. He’s slid into the passenger seat and they’ve started the now familiar drive back from the airport before he lands on the heavy stuff. “This family needs you, Dean.”

“No,” Dean says, mouth dry, “Sam might… he might want me around, Bobby, but he doesn’t need me. He’s okay.”

“I wasn’t talking about your brother,” Bobby says, voice rough, “Family don’t end with blood, boy.”

“I know that,” Dean says, “Bobby, I didn’t - ”

“ - it ain’t a secret that I’ve considered you two my own since about the second time your Daddy dropped you off for a few days and you got't act like a snot nosed little brat for the first time in your life.”

“You were the best, Bobby.”

“I didn’t do right by you, Dean.” 

“No, you -”

“Let me say my piece,” Bobby says, sharp, “I should’ve pulled you out a long time ago, boy. I knew you were struggling. I knew you were hurtin’ and I should have dragged your ass to Sioux Falls and not let you out of my sight till you were doing okay again. You called me when John went missing and I should’ve driven out to meet you. I should have tracked you down after you left Sam. If I were doing my job, you never would’ve left.”

“Bobby,” Dean says, voice grating out of his throat, “Bobby, I always knew you’d do all of those things. I… my head was fucked, Bobby, I wanted help but I _didn’t_ , so I just… didn’t let you help me. I wouldn’t have let you.”

“Then I should’ve broken my back trying,”

“I,” Dean begins, turning the words over in his head, “I appreciate you saying that.”

“Too many damn people have let you down, boy, and it kills me that I’m one of them.”

“It’s not gonna happen again. I won't run away again. I won't let anything do that to me a second time." 

“Damn right,” Bobby agrees.

“And, Bobby,” Dean says, “Anyone would be goddamn honoured to be considered your son.” 

“You’re a damn sap, Dean Winchester,” Bobby says, but in such a way that Dean can hear that he’s pleased. “So what the hell did you do to drive your angel away?”

“Okay, first off, he ain’t my fucking angel,” Dean says, “Who even told you his full freaking name?”

“Jo showed me his facebook profile,”

“Sonuvabitch,” Dean mutters, “ _Jo_ knows about this now? Did Sam take out an advert in the goddamn paper or something?” 

“She saw one of your dumbass facebook conversations about Stockholm on one of your pictures and asked, you idjit. Am I supposed to be lying for you now?”

“No,” Dean says, petulant, “What conversation?” Bobby rolls his eyes. “We were talking about freaking _boats_ , Bobby, how the hell did she…. Goddamnit.”

“And Ellen’s chewin’ the bit waiting for her phone call, son,” Bobby says, “Now I aint telling you how to live your life, but you know it’s gonna be worse the longer you leave it.”

“This freaking family,” Dean says, but there’s something warm settling in his chest and the creeping feeling of _doubt_ is just gone.

Before the two of them head back up to Sam’s apartment, he checks his phone to find a message from Castiel and a message from Sam. Cas’ is just asking him how his reunion with Bobby is going, but Sam’s is a sharp and uncategorical _don’t leave again_. Dean makes a point of hanging back to get Bobby’s duffle and typing out a _okay Sam_ to his little brother. He sounds pretty pissed in the message, but Sam’s not taking the out.

It’s not ideal, but he’ll take it. 

*

Bobby has clearly met Jess before (and, obviously he has, they must have at least met when Bobby came to check up on the impala and probably dozens of times before that) and greets her with a comfortable ”so you haven’t ditched this dumbass yet.” It’s warm enough for it to hurt, a little, because it’s another reminder of everything he’s missed. He has to check himself because he literally _just_ had one of the most affirming conversations he’s ever had in his life about how many shits Bobby gave about his welfare, so he need to stop. He needs to _stop_.

“Not yet, Bobby,” Jess says, leaning forward to kiss his cheek like that’s normal. “Good flight?”

“No such thing,” Dean mutters, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder as he passes, “You want caffeine?” 

“Black, no sugar.” 

“I’ll get the coffee,” Sam says, “Dean and the coffee machine fell out.”

“It tried to freaking kill me.”

“Mmmhmm,” Bobby says, pulling up a seat and turning to Jess, “And how’s chemistry treating you?” 

“Sam,” Dean says, following him into the kitchen with a lump in the back of his throat, “I think I should cook Thanksgiving dinner.”

“What?”

“Dude, I know I’ve only been here for four days, but you’ve used the microwave _once_. Pretty sure every other meal you ate out. Jess said she can cook burgers and pasta. I’m just… haven’t exactly done it in a while, but I’m guessing I know my way around a turkey better than either of you.”

Sam has his gaze focused on the coffee machine. He’s entirely too interested in changing the filter, like the guy isn’t bursting full of brains and doesn’t actually need to think about the damn thing.

“You don’t have to earn your keep,” Sam says, not looking at him.

“That’s not what I was suggesting.”

“You just… you keep cleaning things.” 

“Well, excuse me for being a considerate housemate,”

“But you’re not,” Sam says, finally turning around, “Dean, I lived with you for years. You left your dirty socks on my bed. You never washed up straight after you ate. You’d steal my laptop and screw up my harddrive with your creepy anime and you’d _spill things_ and move my stuff. You were annoying, Dean. You’re the _worst_ housemate and you.... You’ve… you’re treating this like you’re at a hotel, or something. I know you haven’t unpacked. You did my laundry. You don’t need to do that. You don’t need to cook Thanksgiving dinner just because, I don’t know, you feel like you need to earn your right to stay here or something.”

“No, I don’t need to earn my keep, because I’m going to pay you rent.”

“I don’t want you to do that.” 

“I am not your charity case,”

“You’re my _brother_ ,” Sam snaps, “You’re my _brother_ , Dean. You’re supposed to be here. You don’t need to be on eggshells trying not to impose on my life because -”

“ - Sam, you live here with your goddamn girlfriend who I’ve just met. I’m not leaving my freaking socks all over _her_ appartment. This space isn’t just yours for me to invade and, frankly, the last thing I want is to get in the way of your relationship. That isn’t about _you_.”

“I - okay.”

“Honest to god, Sam, I’m just trying to save us all from trying to eat your roast potatoes.” 

Sam fixes him with one of those looks.

“And that’s really it? That’s the only reason?”

Dean swallows.

“You had Thanksgiving plans,” Dean says, “Before. I’m guessing you were gonna be hanging out with Mr and Mrs Moore.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “But Jess explained that you were back. They uninvited us before Jess could say we couldn’t make it.”

“And if you went to the Moore’s, I’m guessing no one would be scrapping Sam’s great burnt _crap_ off the bottom of any cooking trays, trying to work out which of the bowls of tasteless mush was supposed to be the cranberry sauce.” 

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Sam says, picking up two coffees and fixing him with an affectionate-bitchface. 

“I’m here, Sam,” Dean says, before he can reach the doorway of the kitchen, “Not saying I’m in good shape, or whatever, but I’m not trying to leave. I wanna work this out. It’s just… gonna take time.” 

“I know,” Sam says, pausing for a moment to think. “Put the milk back in the fridge before you come out.”

“Not your goddamn slave, Sammy,” Dean calls after him, pulling out his phone to reply the message from Castiel before busting back in on the Sam-Jessica-Bobby show that he’s pretty damn sure they all want him to a part of, really, even if there’s a chasm in their personal histories that it feels like he could drown in.

_California is weird_ Dean types out, _everyones a frigging overeducated hippy recycling-freak that talk like Sam and drink cucumber water for the ‘health benefits’. Bobby’s the most normal thing that’s happened since you left_.

Cas replies almost instantly, which doesn’t bare well for how the reunion with his brothers is going.

_I’m an overeducated hippy recycling-freak._

_Talk to me about the fuel economy of my car and were done_.

_I surmised as much._

_‘surmised’_ Dean types back, smiling at his phone like a fucking idiot, despite the fact that he’s the only reason Castiel isn’t here right now. _Gonna cook thanksgiving dinner & play poker with Bobby_. 

“How’s Cas?” Jess asks, slipping into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Dean flushes and hastily pockets his phone before following her back into the main room. 

“Fine,” Dean says, even though he didn’t actually ask, “He’s fine.” 

*

Thanksgiving is everything he didn’t think he could have anymore. 

It turns out cooking is a little like riding a bike, in that he’s wobbly but definitely still has all the relevant knowledge stored away: he screws up some of the timings so that he has to re-microwave the veg and the potatoes aren’t quite crispy enough, but the turkey is a goddamn triumph. 

Jess can eat her weight in meat, Bobby’s presence is reassuring and solid and everything he’s needed and Sam is so fucking happy it’s intoxicating. 

He has three beers and eats until he’s too damn tired to make quips about his little brother’s hair, or to be mad when Bobby wipes the floor with him at poker for the second evening in a row. He’s got thanksgiving messages from Castiel and Charlie and it might just be the best Thanksgiving he’s ever had.

“You said you wanted me to be walking into something familiar,” Dean says, seeking Sam out in the kitchen where he’s loading up to the dishwasher. Jess and Bobby are having a loud debate about something or other, both of them loaded on beers and family and comfort food. “It is,” Dean says, “This is the most familiar thing in the world.”

It’s a little shitty, because their relationship is still pretty broken and they’ve spent a lot of the past four days wondering what the hell to say to each other, and Dean’s pretty sure that they shouldn’t be thinking about that on Thanksgiving… but he’s here. He’s here and he’s alive and his brother is right there and he’s _happy_. Even if Dean missed a large chunk of it, Sam Winchester is happy, and that counts for a helluva something. He’s not about to let that mean everything anymore, but it’s definitely something. 

“It sucked without you,” Sam says, eyes shining, “The first year, I went to Jess’ parents.”

“Sam,”

“And I… I was okay, at dinner, but after I just couldn’t speak. I didn’t know where you were. It had been months. Too long. I left you four voicemails, then it told me your number had been disconnected. I knew that already, I just… I called Dad, too. He never answered. Neither of you answered.” 

“I, Sammy,”

“I spent Christmas with Bobby,” Sam says, “But we didn’t… we didn’t celebrate. I bought him some whiskey and we got chinese food together. Bobby said he had second hand news about Dad being somewhere near Wyoming and we just… I thought you were with him. I was angry at you again, then, but it didn’t last. I thought you didn’t care. I didn’t… I didn’t know that I hurt you so much that you… If you’d done it, Dean, I don’t know how I could have lived with myself. I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

“My first Thanksgiving we were on a British cruiseliner with only a handful of American tourists, so I was lucky enough that it almost passed me by,” Dean says, voice hoarse for no good reason, “Then some bastard noticed my accent and wished me a happy Thanksgiving and I… it nearly floored me, Sammy. I had to keep smiling for this whole damn shift, then I went back to my bunk and I drank half a bottle of jack, neat. Christmas was worse. I nearly called you. I wish I had, but I… my head was fucked. I don’t know what I’d have said to you.”

“The next year we went to Bobby’s for Thanksgiving,” Sam says, “It was better. Jess, Ellen, Jo and Rufus and they were all great, but I hated it. I just… I hated it. We did Christmas by ourselves. That was better. It felt less like my whole family was missing, more like we were building something.”

“I don’t remember the next Thanksgiving,” Dean says, “I guess I might have been drunk off my face, but I think I was just numb. I think I just wasn’t alive enough to notice. Christmas… I, was in Dublin and they kept playing that damn song and I was working all day.” 

“The Fairytale of New York?”

“Of course you know that,” Dean says, “Sam, if I could change any of it...”

“Me too,” Sam says, eyes shining, “I missed you so much,”

“Yeah, I, damnit, Sam.”

“I - I’m, Dean, I keep screwing this up. I’m pushing you. I’m making this harder for you by picking at things and I’m…”

“You’re mad at me. It’s okay. I get it.”

“How could you still think that?” Sam asks, eyes spilling over and, goddamnit, he can’t. He can’t when Sam is stood there in his kitchen crying. “I - maybe part of me, but mostly I’m just worried about you. What you told me, Dean. What you said. I missed it. I missed it and it, it almost cost you, cost me _everything_ because I didn’t see you. I’m just so _scared_ of losing you and not getting you back and…”

Hugging his little brother has always dug at something deep in his chest and it’s even worse when said brother is fucking crying.

“Whatever the hell could’ve happened,” Dean says, voice rough, “it wouldn’t have been your fault. It’s not your responsibility to save me, Sam, but I… things have changed. We’ve talked about this now, which means that you’re gonna see it, even when I don’t want you to. It’s not your job, but I know you’d do whatever you can to save me anyway.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Sam says, eyes still red, but the words are solid. “And here’s to all the Thanksgivings to come.”

“You bet it,” Dean says.

*

Dropping Bobby off at the airport on Saturday feels a little like ripping off a layer of skin, but he survives and makes it back to Sam’s without stopping at a liquor store.

On Sunday night he has a meeting with his new boss (a friendly enough seeming guy with a cajun drawl and a handshake that felt like a challenge) and the knowledge that Castiel is going to be touching back down in California in two days time.

And on Tuesday, he gets to drive to the airport _again_ to pick up Castiel with a couple of day’s worth of clothing in his trunk, just in case Cas wants him to stay.

*

You have one new message.

_Hey Dean, guess I missed you before you headed back to the airport to pick up Cas and Jess said you tried to do the walk of shame with a duffle bag of stuff, so I’m guessing we won’t see you for a couple of days… Say hi to Cas for us. If you are coming back at some point this week, the chicken needs eating and I’m not sure we’ll get to it. This week is gonna be pretty hectic but if you want the four of us should grab dinner, or something. Anyway, I’m just checking in. Turning my phone off for the rest of the night to see if I can get this essay done, but I figure you’ll be… occupied. Oh and we’re out of milk._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester.

_Dude, I’m pretty sure that’s not the definition of a walk of shame. I’m at the airport. Cas’ flight is delayed, so he might be pretty wiped out - might be back with you in a couple of hours after all, so don’t you and Jess go getting any ideas. Enjoy your essay, throw away the damn chicken and, no, I’m not buying your freaking milk. I’ll get back to you on the dumbass double date. Speak soon, Sam._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aannnddd I'm back! Cas will reappear shortly. He was supposed to make it in this chapter, but then this stuff just needed some mores space.


	11. Chapter 11

“You should get an airport parking loyalty ticket,” Castiel says by way of greeting, emerging from the arrivals gate looking significantly worse for wear than when Dean dropped him off last week.

“Hey,” Dean returns.

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, settling a little too far away for Dean’s liking, not blinking.

“You survived, huh?”

“The flight or my brothers?”

“Both,” Dean says, “And I’m hoping I won’t be needing to come back here for a while.”

“I very much hope that too,” 

“Let’s get your ass home,” Dean says, eyes scanning over his features as he tries to work out exactly what is going on in Cas’ head but coming up blank. It’s not surprising when he thinks about it: he hasn’t known Castiel for a great length of time and a lot of that time he’s been completely screwing up working out his emotions. He missed that whole thing where Cas was struggling with growing-long-distance feelings because he was too immersed in his own crap. For everything that he does know about Cas, there's a helluva lot more that’s still a mystery.

“Yes. Please.” 

For all that he’s still working out being in California, he now knows San Jose airport pretty damn well and the route to the parking lot is second nature. Cas just falls into step behind him and doesn’t argue when Dean takes his case to put in the trunk, instead sliding into the passenger seat. 

“Hello, Baby.”

“Dude, how tired are you?” Dean asks, shutting the door shut behind him.

“Very,”

“Cause, frankly, I’m the only one who get’s to talk to my car.”

“Your rules are very strange.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,”

“In this scenario, who else could I possibly shoot?” Cas asks, eyes shut, with his head resting against the passenger seat.

“Cas,” Dean says, drawing in his gaze and attention, so he can reach out and run a thumb over his cheek. “Hey.”

Cas gets the hint and leans forward to kiss him, soft and lovely.

“Thank you for coming to pick me up,”

“I’m just stoked you’re back,” Dean says, kissing him again before starting the engine, “And given I’m the one who freaking banished you in the first place…”

The drive back is quiet. The kind of quiet that’s just edging onto the side of _too quiet_ with Dean’s shitty head filling in the gap with a hundred problems he’s pretty sure don’t exist. Cas is tense. The slope of his shoulders are off. He spends half the journey staring out the window, notably further to his side of the car seat than he was on the way there.

“You okay?” Dean asks, after they’ve pulled up outside Cas’ place and neither of them have moved. Cas doesn’t respond. Not even a tilt of his lips. “Are _we_ okay?”

“Yes,” Cas says, shifting back into animation, “We are absolutely _fine_.”

“Okay then,” Dean says, brow furrowing, “Do you, uh, want me to come in?” 

There’s a beat or two of nothing, then Cas reaches across the space in the front seat of the car and kisses him like he means it. Hot and with bite, so that Dean winds up crowded against the door of the impala with a hand tangled up in his hair.

“Okay,” Dean says, dislodging the car keys with one hand while the other is getting a hold on Cas’ freaking trench coat. He hasn’t got a goddamn clue what’s going on, but it goes against pretty much every one of his internal rules to hit the brakes when someone as hot as Cas looks at him with that much intent, especially when he _knows_ the sex would be good. 

Except, it doesn’t sit comfortably in his gut. 

Except, even with Cas pulling him flush against him the second he’s managed to get his front door open, he can’t get the thought that there’s something _wrong_ with Cas out of his head because, apparently, he cares about Cas too freaking much to be content with Cas using him as some kind of distraction with no back story. Except, he just can't handle the fact that if they sleep together right now, he's not all that sure that Cas will want him to stay for breakfast.

Cas is pissed off about something. He can tell _that_ , at least, from the kinda-pushy route they take to the sofa (and, okay, it’s fucking hot and definitely something he wants to revisit at a later date, but it’s not working right now). He’s getting hot irritation being poured into this kiss and he’s getting the fact that Cas wants to _not_ be in a crappy mood, a lot, but Dean’s got this sudden intense need to understand _why_. He can’t do this, otherwise. He cares too goddamn much, which - 

Dean flips them over on the goddamn sofa and pins Castiel down with his knees so he can raise an eyebrow at him.

“Not for nothing, Cas, but usually when I’m being relegated to the status of ‘distraction’ I have a general policy of wanting to know _why_.”

Castiel deflates. His emotions retreat from his face completely. One second there's six different kinds of something there, then he's impassive. Stoic and silent for a few long moments as he looks at him.

“Maybe you should go back to your brothers.”

“No, fuck that,” Dean says, “Actually, fuck you. You don't get to banish me for asking you a goddamn question, or for hitting the brakes.”

“That's not what I meant,” Cas says, expression pained, “I, that is _definitely_ not what I meant.” 

“Which part? The part where I don't get to ask about your feelings or the bit where I only get to stay if I put out?” 

“Dean,”

“Maybe me leaving is a good idea,” Dean says, eyes flashing. “Might the best idea you've had all fucking day.”

“I - Dean,” Cas says, expression twisting, “Listen to me.”

“Then talk.” Dean says, jaw set. “Talk fast.”

“I have no intention to relegating you to anything,”

“So I'm wrong, huh?”

“No, you're right and I - I am _fucking up_ right now. I'm _breaking things_ and I am very glad you just… I am not fit for company, but I didn't want to be alone and I - Damnit, Dean. I do not deserve you being here right now. I should have called you before and made my apologies and I - I am ashamed and I _didn't mean_ to -”

The self deprecation completely throws him, because it comes with a side order of emotions played out on Castiel’s feature that he knows well: the self doubt and the self hatred and all the rest. He knows how that feels. 

“I meant that you should go before I do anything else that I'll despise myself for tomorrow. I didn't mean -”

“Shut up a minute, I need to think.” Dean says, heart hammering. Cas’ expression falters, pauses, clouds back over. Cas is messed up. Maybe not Dean level of messed up, but he's spilling low self worth and the kind of crap that Dean knows leads to forced isolation and getting stuck in your own head. Cas barely even freaking did anything and he's spiraling into whatever the hell this is.

He really _didn't_ mean it.

Dean kisses him. Just once. Just briefly.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, gaze crumpling in confusion.

“You asked me to listen and I heard you,” Dean says, voice steady. “Fine. I'm not a fucking saint. You’re forgiven.”

“Dean, I should not have -”

“I don't even have a problem with distracting you. We have this whole thing here, I get that. Sex can get whatever out your system sometimes. It's just crap like this, context is necessary foreplay.

“You are _too good_ to be a distraction, Dean, you shouldn't allow -”

“-I'm not allowing freaking anything. I had a goddamn issue, so I called time and we talked about it because I care about you, damnit, and I don't want you waking up to a steaming pile of regret because you don't like the way you handle some of your emotions. I'm not _allowing_ anything, I'm volunteering so you don't have to be alone; so shut up and tell me about your goddam feelings.”

Cas looks pained. He doesn’t move for just long enough for it to hit him, hard, that Castiel doesn’t _want_ to talk to him about his feelings, and Dean was just… jumping the gun. Making assumptions. It’s not like Cas has spent a whole lot of time opening up to him before. He knows some stuff, yeah, but as far as Dean knows that's stuff Castiel is happy to share with anyone. Dean’s the only one in this thing that's been painstakingly vulnerable. 

“Okay then,” Dean says, something acidic settling in his gut, “Change of plan. Operation distraction is back on, but we're playing by my rules.”

“What?”

“Castiel, welcome to _the healing powers of oral sex_ 101”, Dean says, eaning forward to kiss him, sharp, with the edge he hadn't quite lost while he was trying to get a read on what the hell was going on in Cas’ head. “Your first class,” Dean says, unbuttoning the top of Cas’ slacks, before letting his thumb graze over the strip of exposed skin of Castiel’s naval. “Is a practical demonstration.”

“What are you doing?”

“Distracting you,” Dean says, “Way I see it, we can sit here in silence not talking about it, I can leave, or I can suck you off. From where I’m sitting, I know which option I’m preferring. You got any objections to that, Cas?”

“No,” 

“Okay then,” Dean says, shooting him a bolshy smirk before his fingers dip under the waistband of his slacks.

*

Getting Cas to talk wasn't actually the intention, but it's a decent side effect. It's what he wanted, even if he wasn't going to ask twice. It eases the sickly, insecure feeling in his stomach, anyway, and it shuts up the voice screaming in the back of his head saying _obviously_ Cas doesn't need him. Why would anyone _need_ him around? He's unreliably and bails and selfish and -

(Which probably means the whole thing was inadvisable in the first place, but whatever).

“My brothers have gotten into my head,” Cas says, afterwards, voice rough. He’s sprawled out across the couch, still dishevelled as he watches Dean cross the room to swipe himself a beer. “They were… infuriating and superior and I allowed them to progressively chip away at my defiance, until I doubted everything about myself. Again.”

Dean weighs the beer in his hand for a few moments before turning around. Honestly, he wasn't expecting the truth-talk. He'd accepted the fact that Cas didn't want to get into it, that he didn't owe Dean jack in that regard, and that an A plus blow job was all he could bring to the party. He wasn't expecting this. 

“Holidays are tough,” Dean says, “Families are tough.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees vehemently, “Why should their disappointment matter?”

The image of John Winchester laying into him for not looking after the impala promptly blossoms in the front of his mind. He doesn’t need to think about that shit right now. He definitely doesn’t need to start thinking about his own crap when Cas has just started opening up, at least a little. At least something. 

“Good fucking question,” Dean says, sitting down on the arm of the couch. Cas straightens himself up. “This about your job again?” Cas expression flickers. “Oh,” Dean says, “So it's about me, huh?”

“Gabriel - ”

“ - Filled everyone in. I get you. So what is it they object to - my winning charm or my perky nipples?”

“Dean,”

“Seriously, I can handle it, Cas. I know I'm just a bartender, near enough homeless with just a car to my name. I’m not kidding myself here. I ain’t meet the family material, particularly your family, with the fancy duds and the cruises,”

“They're not _prejudiced_ because you're a bartender or because you don't have vast wealth, Dean. This isn't an Austen novel. You're the only person proffering this idea that you're not good enough. They just think that we are _moving too fast_ considering the large part of our acquaintance we were on different continents. They think the fact that I considered joining you for thanksgiving is a sign that I am ‘repeating historical mistakes’.”

“Of having too much heart? I remember you saying that.”

“I bought this on myself by saying I would consider their New York job offer before I met you in England, then detracting it defiantly afterwards. They _worry_ because they love me, but must that involve so much judgement?”

“I mean,” Dean says, pulse loud in his ears, “Maybe they kind of have a point.”

He’s pretty sure that if he wasn’t involved he’d be with Gabriel and the rest on this. What they’re doing _is_ illogical. It is fast. It’s fast when Cas doesn’t even really want to talk to him about how he feels, when there’s clearly so freaking much going on on his head that Dean doesn’t know about. It’s fast when Dean spent half of this last week hiding from his little brother and teasing out years worth of pain from their combined histories. It's fast when Dean's been in America for just over a week and has a couple of days worth of stuff in his trunk because he was hoping Cas wanted him to stay.

“Don't,” 

“Cas, we haven't exactly known each other a long time. If you wanna think about it, this is technically the fourth time we've met.”

“We were on that ship for a month, Dean, when I saw you daily -”

“Okay, but I was working. You - we went on two dates and then you ditched looking round london to dick around in Southampton. You dropped your family to do that. And next time you saw me you were trying to end our whole thing, so it's not - I get where they're coming from.”

“And what is Dean Winchester’s solution?”

“I - maybe we slow things down. Hit the brakes or… I don't know.”

“Dean, I don't even know the definition for what we are doing. How can we _slow down_ something that has never had any trajectory, because both of us were under the impression it was doomed to fail. I don't… I don't want to do that.”

“I'm pretty sure the definition is ‘seeing each other’” Dean says, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“My brothers are right in that I do not consider this to be a ‘casual’ thing.” 

“Look, Cas, that's not what I was saying. I'm not … I'm not talking about feelings, I'm talking about being practical.”

“Do you want to spend less time together?”

“No,”

“Then why are you suggesting it? It's illogical.”

“It's not that simple,” 

“It’s exactly that simple,” Castiel says, eyes sharp and Dean’s heads reeling.

“I'm not - my head's a mess, Cas. I'm not good. I'm not good for you. I've spent half this week tryin’ not to fall apart, okay? Seeing Sam, meeting Jess, Bobby. Therapy. You can't rely on me because I've got no freaking idea if I'm gonna get on a boat next week and pretend I don't goddamn exist for another two years. I can't give you what you want.”

“What do you think I want?” Castiel says, “The fact that you're working through some things isn't a secret to me, Dean. I don't _expect_ you to have resolved everything just because you're here. These things take times.”

“You can't fix me, with this - by caring about me and your freaking blue eyes and your air quotes. You can't fix me.”

“You're not broken, Dean.”

“Right,” Dean scoffs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sure. I'm in tip top shape.” 

“I am not trying to be your therapist,” Cas says, eyes slightly narrowed. “You have one of those.”

“You're just trying to be my boyfriend,” Dean says, “Like that doesn't come with a side order of emotional baggage and a fucking shit show of a romantic history. Lucky you.”

“This whole argument started because I was discussing my emotional baggage, Dean, this is how relationships work.”

“Yeah, till I monopolised this whole goddamn thing to make it about me, apparently. And we're not having a fucking argument right now.”

Cas tilts his head. 

“This… feels like an argument.”

“I'm not arguing with you,” Dean all but yells, before he catches himself and scowls at the floor. “Goddamn, Castiel.” 

“I should get you off,” Castiel says, cold dead serious, and it's off the wall enough that it knocks him for six. He’s so thrown off his track of thought that he completely forgets that he’s pissed off.

“What?”

“It's impolite not to reciprocate oral sex.” 

“You,” Dean begins, but then he stops, because he's starting to smile all by accident. “ _Impolite_. You're something else, Cas.”

“Do you -?”

“I'm good, Cas. I lost my buzz right around the time we started yelling,” Dean says, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell are we even fighting about?”

“I lost track,” Cas frowns, standing up to rest his hands on Dean’s shoulders, “It’s not a secret that I would like to be in a relationship with you at some point, but I can follow your timings. I take issue with going backwards because of some predescribed notions about how things should be.”

“But you’re, uh, good with us seeing each other. For now. Cause you gotta be honest with me if you’re not, Cas.”

“I am ‘good’,” Cas says, frowning ever so slightly, “Provided we’re… exclusive.”

“Dude, I’ve been on that train since Southampton,” Dean says, “Definitely a thing.”

“Good,” Cas says, frowning, “I apologise for ruining this evening.”

“You didn't,” Dean says, “You're allowed to have feelings about stuff, Cas, and you know I -- I wanna know about them.”

“I know,” Cas says, then looks at him for a long time, dissecting him, “Take out?”

“Take out and a movie,” Dean corrects, shifting to be actually sat on the sofa, “You're picking.”

*

For all that Cas appears to wear the same coat whatever the weather, this immunity to the temperature doesn't stretch towards bedding. His duvet is almost too warm with both of them underneath it, with Cas loosely in Dean’s hold as he skims his fingertips across the flat of Castiel’s abdomen. He's impossibly comfortable, too, as he folds his hands to run his knuckles over his hip bone. They're both awake, even if Dean's not sure why: thinking too much, probably.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice deep and quiet in the dark, then he turns and brackets Dean’s face with his hands, a thumb dipping behind his ear, tracing his hairline and landing at the nape of his neck, somehow pulling the covers closer around them. “I do know you: I know that I have already won enough loyalty from you for you to listen to what I'm unable to adequately express and I know your capacity for loyalty can bankrupt yourself. I know that you are good. That you give to others, always, and I do know that you care about this. About me.”

Dean leans forward to kiss him in the dark because he doesn't know what else he can say.

“It's not easy for me to let you understand me,” Cas says, low, “But I can read you, Dean, and you should know why you are granting me allowances. We were not encouraged to talk about how we feel by our father. We were certainly not supposed to _doubt him_ and that rule remained in place, even after he died. I find that… historically, I - revealing myself has generally been followed swiftly by abandonment and judgement and I… my initial reluctance to speak to you wasn't anything about _you_ Dean. Please know that I find you extraordinary.”

“That sucks,” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “You imagine you're the only one bringing baggage to the table. Your assumption was that I didn't think you could handle my emotional fragility. That I didn't think you undependable. I don't believe that. You… you see things in me that I have wanted to believe about myself but was never sure. You make me better, Dean. I know I haven't known you a long time, but I would like to.”

“I wasn't,” Dean begins, then stops. “I wasn't saying I'm not ready to wrap this up in a bow and call it official cause of anything today. Yeah it… it felt like a kick in the teeth when you didn't wanna talk about it, but I get it. I get that. That's not _why_. If anything, this all makes more sense now. I just - this whole time you've basically been on vacation. I just wanna see if we work between the nine till fives and the ordinary first before…”

“I understand, Dean,” Cas says, thumb sweeping Dean’s cheek, “Thank you for staying tonight.”

*

Dean wakes up both comfortable and restless, with an arm half thrown over his own and one of Cas’ ankles touching thigh. It’s perfectly innocuous as sleeping positions go, but there’s something about them both being in the same state that they actually live in that gives in bone marrow deep impact. This is something. This is really _something_.

Cas makes a noise of protest in the back of this throat as Dean pulls himself out of bed.

“You working today?” Dean asks, grabbing a couple of his layers from the floor. 

“No,” Cas mutters.

“How much annual holiday do you freaking have?” Dean asks.

“Dean, sleeping,” Cas mutters, which is sort of adorable, actually, but Dean's not sure if he has the capacity to stay there and enjoy it. He grabs his phone out of yesterday’s jeans pocket instead and heads for the door.

Half an hour later, he's exhausted the coffee supplies, come to the realisation that Castiel basically doesn't own food and gotten angry enough at his kitchen door creaking that he just _can't_ get back into bed. He’s dressed and showered and plugged his phone into charge and there's too much going on in his head. Way, way too much. He doesn’t want to leave, either, which has him stuck in a shitty limbo with no where to put his energy.

“Cas,” Dean says, leaning round his door with a mug of coffee in his hands. Cas is conscious, now, but clearly not by choice. “I'm going to the shop to pick up some food, since apparently you don't eat.”

“I've been away.”

“Uh uh,” Dean says, setting the coffee down on the bedside table and pausing for a moment. “Twenty minutes.”

Cas mutters something into his pillow that Dean doesn't catch.

The trip gives me some time to clear his head, which is way too clogged up with freaking Castiel: Cas at that dumb formal evening on the ship, pretending to be drunk, the feel of his thigh under his palm in that pub in Dublin, his goddamn hair when he showed up in Southampton; in London, trying to break up with him, but sincerely declaring that he was worried he would fall in love with him. Then the Cas of last night, pouring his soul out at 3AM with the kind of faith him that no one’s ever had. Even knowing that Dean nearly fucking killed himself. Cas, Cas, Cas. 

It all hits him again the second he walks back into Cas’ apartment with the key he swiped from Cas’ coat pocket before he left.

Castiel is asleep again. Dean kind of wants to wake him up to not be alone in this, but he also really wants Cas to have a chance to rest up after all the brother drama and, anyway, he doesn’t know exactly what he’d say. He doesn’t really know how to articulate the sudden wave of _feelings_ or the vague panic that’s risen up to meet it head on.

He’s not running away (not now, not ever again), so he unloads the groceries and gets to work instead. 

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester.

_Heeyy Sammy. Yes, I'm still at Cas’. No, I dunno if I'm coming back tonight. I'll message you. Kind of freaking out right now. Cas is asleep and I'm making breakfast and I just…. do you even remember the last time I did this kind of thing? There was Lisa, I mean, but that tanked. I mean before all of this crap went down, when did I even…? I don't even know and I've got no idea what the hell I’m doing. Anyway, I’m just calling cause apparently Cas is into lie ins and it feels a little weird just wondering round his place. I'll catch you later._

*

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, voice sleep rough, carrying the half finished (and almost definitely cold) coffee Dean made into the kitchen.

“Your kitchen door creaks,” Dean says, where he’s knelt on the floor trying to get at the hinge to lubricate the damn door. Cas is staring at him, which Dean’s pretty sure is a reasonable response to the current situation, but doesn’t make him feel less like he’s losing it.

“Yes,”

“And it was driving me crazy, so I fixed it.”

“Is this customary when you're seeing someone?” Cas asks, blearily wondering over to the coffee machine and jabbing at it. “Is this - breakfast?”

“Pancake mix,” Dean says, abandoning the door and standing up, hastily trying to dry his hands. “Didn't cook ‘em cause I didn't know when you'd be up.”

“Are you a morning person?” Cas asks, narrowing his eyes at him. “I don't know if this can work, Dean.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, “My sleep pattern is still kind of whacked from the jet lag. You want these pancakes or not?”

“A great deal,” Cas says, standing a little too close to him and actually smiling. He's definitely still a coffee away from being his normal self, but there's something kind of nice about his crumpled edges and creased smile.

“I'll get cooking then,” Dean says, managing a proper smile back and even managing to maintain it after Cas disappears to get dressed. It falters a little when his phone blares out metallica to tell him that Sam is calling him back, because he already regrets calling his little brother over a not-relationship crisis at nine AM in the frigging morning. He’s not altogether sure what his problem is in the freaking first place, because it makes pretty much no sense to feel like crap when Cas didn’t want to talk to him about his feelings then freak out when it turns out he does.

He sends the call to voicemail, because he’s nothing if not consistent and is about to thumb out a shitty explanation when Cas suddenly shows up behind him again.

“This smell makes me very happy.”

“Holy shit, Cas, make a noise,” Dean says, dropping his phone onto the counter.

“You’re the one that fixed the kitchen door,” Cas counters, hand on the small of his back as he leans close to eye up the pancakes. The casual domesticity of it knocks him off track all over again (like Dean isn’t the one that freaking started it, with the breakfast and the door-fixing), and Cas being so goddamn comfortable in his personal space reminds him all over again that _this is something_. This is something. “And I started a new job, which meant I had a new allowance of annual leave.”

“What?”

“You asked earlier,”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says, glancing at him then back at the pancakes in attempt to catch up with what the hell is even going on. “Makes sense.”

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says, reaching forward to kiss him, just how he did at Southampton train station, slow and purposeful, like he’s trying to etch it into Dean’s memory. Dean just falls into it, wraps his arms around him like they’ve been doing this forever and holds him until the pancakes start to burn.

It turns out to be a good day.

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_Hey. If we’re talking the last time you actually fell for someone, I think we’re talking high school, probably. You didn’t usually talk to me about stuff like that. You didn’t tell me about the bisexual thing so I guess there could have been a lot of stuff I missed. I thought there might be a girl right after I left for Stanford, but that was secondhand from Bobby. Honestly, Dean, I don’t think it makes a difference anyway. Everyone freaks out at this part. When I first met Jess… I guess we didn’t really talk about it, because of everything, but we were together for a while before you disappeared. And it… I didn’t tell her everything, at the beginning. For a lot of the time I was at Stanford I didn’t really talk about Dad or you. She knew you existed and she knew that you’d pretty much raised me, but I guess she got the hint not to push. After our fight, after you left, I called her and she came round and we just… talked it out. I started spilling all this stuff about Dad and about how angry I was at him and you and I… it scared the crap out of me, Dean. The next morning I just wanted to take it all back, not have to face her knowing she knew everything, but she just said we should get breakfast and spent the whole breakfast talking at me about her essays. She was great. Then I tried to call you but you’d changed numbers and then… Bobby didn’t know where you were and neither of us could get hold of Dad, she was really there for me and I realise that she was it, you know? That I needed her and it scared the hell out of me, but it was kind of amazing, too._

_Anyway. I guess I’m just saying - I know you, Dean, and I know how you get when you care. So just, don’t overthink it. Talk about it. Don’t lose your head. Cas is really great._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

 _Too frigging late, Sam. I fixed his goddamn door while he was asleep. I’m officially a dumbass. Anyway, it’s fine. We’ve talked. I’m gonna stay here tonight._

_Tell Jess thanks for looking out for you, Sam. She’s great and I’m really… it’s just good to know that you had someone there for you, through all of that. You deserve it, even if she’s way out of your league. Okay._. 

*

You have one new voicemail. _You fixed his door? Dude. Let me know about the double date thing and if you’re ever coming home._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_Why the hell do you never answer your phone? Anyway, rain check on the double date thing. We’re in a weird place right now. Good weird, but… yeah, I wanna see how it pans out a little first. Being chucked out tomorrow cause he’s got some work to do and I’ve got my first shift… so, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sammy. Okay, bye._

*

You have one new voicemail.

_You never answer your phone either, Dean. Case and point. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening at with Cas._


	12. Chapter 12

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_Hey, Sammy. Just checking in as requested on my break to let you know it’s all going okay - my first shift - its, uh. Honestly, being around so much whiskey isn’t a good time, but I’ve… been doing this for a while. Just need to get back into the rhythm. Anyway, uh, guessing you’ll be asleep by the time I get back and I’m meetin’ Cas after he finishes work, so I’ll see you sometime next month by the look of how our schedules are working out. Oh, I cooked meatloaf. Eat it._

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_Heyyy. Guessing you’re asleep after your shift last night. Are you working Wednesday and Thursday night? Would be good to actually see you before we head to Jess’ parents for the weekend. You should invite Cas over this weekend while we’re gone. I mean, you should do that anyway, because it’s -- it’s your place too. Oh and, for the record Dean, the amount of money you sent me for rent is insulting. I sent half of it back._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_Jokes on you, Sam, because I shut that account down two years ago. Should’ve bounced back to you by now. About Wednesday --- I’m only working till nine on Wednesday, but I’m off Thursday, so we can have our freaking ‘catch up’ then. No can do on Cas coming over this weekend, though. Working till three AM Friday and Saturday. You let me know what you cool kids wanna do Thursday._

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_Dean, thanks for the new coffee machine. I’m definitely sending you half the rent money back, jerk, even if I have to stuff the cash under your pillow. And Dean… you know Cas can come join us on Thursday, right? I get that you’re having scheduling issues with all of us, here. He’s -- we like Cas, you like Cas. It doesn’t have to be a big deal._

*

You have reached the voicemail of Sam Winchester. Please leave a message after the tone.

_The coffee machine is for me, bitch, I’m fed up of your goddamn antique trying to kill me every day. Still good for Thursday. I’m gonna meet you at the restaurant straight from therapy. I’ll ask Cas if he’s free if it makes you happy, Sasquatch. Alright. Later, Sam. Oh, and if you put cash under my pillow I’m gonna post it under your bedroom door. Quit being a baby._

*

_Remember when I was on a different continent but it felt like we were actually in the same time zone?_ Dean types out to Cas, after he’s driven back from work, poured himself a whiskey to help him sleep and stared at the wall for a little while. He _should_ be tired, but mostly he feels a little… flat. He feels like sleeping without drinking another fifth of whiskey is unlikely. Cas is almost definitely asleep, and if he isn’t then he _should_ be, because Cas works a nine to five like most of the population. Sam and Jess’ hours are more like nine till _eight_ with all the hours at the library and their respective part time jobs, and he’s kind of fed up of this whole ships-in-the-night-bullshit. 

_Thursday’s my night off. Sam & Jess wanna hang out of you’re game_.

He almost sends _’is it normal that I feel really goddamn lonely_ too, but he deletes the message and tips his whiskey down his throat instead. It _is_ normal to feel kind of shitty at 3am, it just happens that that’s the time his shift ends and the rest of the world is asleep.

He wasn’t actually going to invite Cas to their dinner plans, which probably makes him a crappy person, but…

He hasn’t actually _seen_ Cas in a week. He didn’t really want the first time they managed to carve out some time they were both conscious at the same time to be with Sam and Jess, but that’s just how it is right now. _Working_ is better than just bumming around the house by most accounts, but he has to work evenings and nights and _weekends_ which leaves just about zero crossover time with any of the people he moved back to America to see, and it sucks.

Dean’s still awake an hour later, when a return message chimes in from Cas.

_I miss you too_ He receives and then, a few moments later. _I am ‘game’ for anything that means I get to see you._ Dean doesn’t mean to wind up smiling at his phone like a total jackass, but Cas has that way of being too-sincere that makes Dean’s stomach flip over. He can just imagine Cas all sleep ruffled and serious as he replies to his messages and - yeah, Cas is good.

_you should be asleep. Not working Sunday either._

_You should come over now. I have a late start at work tomorrow._ Dean receives, almost instantly. It’s really goddamn tempting. He would _love_ to not be alone right now, and especially to not be alone with Cas. 

_dude, is this a booty call? It’s the middle of the fucking night._

_I thought ‘seeing you’ would involve actually seeing you._ He gets back, which is a good point. This isn’t exactly how Dean envisioned it turning out. When he said that he wanted to see if they could make it work between work and their ordinary lives, he meant he wanted to make sure Cas was still interested when he wasn’t on vacation and that Dean had the honest to god capacity to be in a relationship, not that he wanted to see if they’d actually have _time_ to see each other. That hadn’t been a consideration. 

_Yeah, this is bullshit. Also, quit using air quotes in texts, you freaking dork_

_Dean, come over_.

Dean’s chest twists, because he can’t. He _can’t_ because he’s pittied himself through three more measures of whiskey than he meant to, and he’s not dumb enough to take that kind of risk any more. 

_Not legal to drive right now._ Dean types out and sends before he can regret it, because he really needs Cas to know it’s not because he doesn’t want to see him. He really really fucking wants to, even if it’s ridiculous suggestion in the first place. It’s too late to be driving across the city to check in with someone he’s not even dating, but then nothing about their relationship has been particularly sane so far. Maybe it’s time to roll with the punches and commit to their personal brand of crazy. When he’s sober enough to drive there, anyway. _Today’s been crappy_ Dean adds as a caveat, gut twisting, because… he told Cas he was drinking less, which he is, but the guy only ever had a vague idea of how much he was drinking before, and it’s all relative. _You should come over Sunday night & stay._

He still has this deep seated fear that if Cas finds out enough about the broken, beat up depths of all his issues, he’ll bow out. Dean couldn’t even blame him, either. The fact that anyone would want to take him on when he’s still detangling everything is fucking crazy, and kind of bad timing. 

_I could come to you right now_

_Dude, that’s gonna add an extra twenty five minutes onto your commute. You’d have to leave right after you got here. Get some sleep. I’ll see you Thursday_.

_Okay_ Cas sends, then _it wasn’t a booty call_.

Dean smiles again and sets down his glass so he can thumb out _I know_.

He gets a final message of _Good. I’ll see you Sunday, too. You should get some sleep too, Dean_ that has him feeling almost warm and almost good. It’s layered up with the profoundly shitty knowledge that if he wasn’t such a screw up on the alcohol stakes, he could be _there_ right now, but the good stuff is there too. 

He hasn’t scared Cas off yet. How goddamn relieved he is about that is a whole other issue.

The next morning, he removes the bottle of whiskey from his room. It’s not the first time he’s made almost symbolic gestures when it comes to alcohol in the last few months, but he’s hoping that this time it’s going to stick. 

(It doesn’t. Not quite, anyway.)

*

He hadn’t thought about it for a long time until he _talked_ about it with his phone pressed to his ear on the top deck, dredging out all these old jagged hurts to Sam’s voicemail. He’s thought about it a lot since then; the exact moment he decided to _escape_. 

He’s not sure that _decide_ is the right word. 

He wasn’t thinking enough for it to actually be a decision. He was just… clutching at something, desperate, rootless. If he’d been thinking straight then he’d have called Bobby. Given someone his phone number. Stopped drinking. Stopped, period, refocused. But it just - everything was spinning and he just - Sam didn’t want him, Dad didn’t want him, and then the impala keys were still in his hand because _he couldn’t sell her_ and he parked her up in Palo Alto and somehow wound up by the sea. He walked there. Walked there with his heart pounding and everything inside him screaming for it all to just fucking _stop_.

And she was vast and blue and bigger than all of it.

And, and, and… he needed out. Needed _away_. Needed not to care about Sam or Dad and not to be _himself_. 

He needed to pay for the rental of the storage unit. 

If he didn’t have some income, his money would run out eventually. Or they’d… they’d find out what had happened, and they’d call Sam, or his Dad and -- he needed to pay rent for the storage unit. 

Most of his life they’d been landlocked. Kansas, South Dakota, the midwest. Before that day, he’s not sure he’d ever look at the expanse of the ocean and seen a symbol of escape, but while he buried his gaze in the _blue_ things started to shift in his head. Just like he’d started making preparations - paying off his credit cards, making arrangements for the impala - before anything had formed itself into a conscious _plan_ , he started to act.

He applied for the job on the ship and they hired him on the spot. He bought a new phone. New clothes. A bank card that he could use abroad.

Within a week, the waves were pulling him to Europe.

He hadn’t thought about it until he tried to constrict all those feelings and hurts into words Sam could understand, but now he thinks about it every time he looks out at the sea. He did it with the mediterranean, looking out across the english channel, the cold, lonely waters around Russia and the last time he wound up at a Palo Alto beach trying to regulate every damn thing that’s spinning through his head.

Dean’s not sure if it’s a comfort or a warning to himself never to let it get like that again.

A text rolls in from Sam saying _where are you? Everything okay?_ which is Dean’s first reminder that he was supposed to be meeting Sam, Jess and Cas ten minutes ago. He’s got no idea how so much freaking _time_ slipped away from him, today or over the past few years, but he’s late.

He has been trying achingly hard not to worry Sam. He owes him that much. _On my way_ Dean types out, absorbing one last look at the sea before he forces himself into motion.

He is, by some miracle, only twenty minutes late for dinner.

Sam’s mouth is pulled into _worry_ that does not bode well for them having a nice, relaxed freaking meal, which Dean’s not sure he can even blame him for. Sam’s trigger happy and has a hawk-like gaze on every single one of Dean’s movements, but Dean can understand that on a logical level. He has _earned_ Sam being worried about him. 

It’s just that understanding it doesn’t have an impact on how profoundly _irritating_ it is. 

Dean slips into the seat next to Cas and mumbles out some dumb excuse about losing track of the time (which is _true_ , at least). Cas offers him a wide, lovely smile and rests a hand on his knee, just for a moment, before he returns to deliberating over the menu.

“I thought you were coming straight after your therapy session,” Sam says, not picking up the menu himself.

“Yep.”

“Did it overrun?”

“No, I was just...driving,” Dean says, which is near enough the truth. He doesn’t really _want_ Sam to know where to look for him when the idea of him living in Palo Alto with his little brother and dating Cas starts to feel like a pipe dream. He doesn’t want to get into this now. Technically, this is his second family outing with a male date, and the last one was complicated enough that wasn’t the main focus of his head. 

Cas knows Sam and Jess, but that probably won’t help them if Sam pushes too hard. Dean’s too keyed up and a base-level frustrated for that to work out well. _This_ is probably as bad of an idea as Cas coming to Thanksgiving would have been, which is why Dean shouldn’t have let Sam talk him into it like it was simple.

“You - what happened?” 

“Sam,” Dean says, voice tightening a little, “Not now.”

“Dean,” Sam says, voice sharp, “You said you’d be early, because you were coming straight from therapy and you -- you were just _driving_? Where?”

“Damnit, Sam,” Dean says, forcefully suppressing irritation, trying to throw a look Cas’ away to stop Sam from pressing into this with witnesses. They’re probably overdue another argument. He would really like it to _not_ be now. “I - therapy finished _early_ , so I had some time to kill.”

“It - finished early?” Sam asks, and he can tell without meeting his eye that Sam doesn’t believe him for a single second. That Sam is far too well versed in Dean’s particular brand of bullshit for him to buy what he’s selling for one minute. He didn’t really expect him too, either, but he _did_ expect that instead of being so freaking stubborn, he’d save up his grievances till they collided in the kitchen. That’s what they’ve been doing and it’s been working just _fine_ until now. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Pretty much.”

“You mean you _walked out_ of therapy?”

“Okay, fine. I _walked out_.” Dean says, “And I don’t wanna talk about it, so let’s move the fuck on with the conversation.”

“Dean, you can’t just drop that bombshell and then -”

“ - Sam, quit pushing. I don’t want to talk to you about therapy, at all. In fact, let’s pretend you don’t know I’m going. Capisce?”

“No,” Sam says, hotly, “Dean, you don’t get to set all these stupid boundaries after _everything_ \- ”

“ - so, I don’t get to have boundaries?” Dean asks, “Great. Awesome. Good to know.”

“We’re _worried_ about you.”

“Well _stop_.”

“No,” Sam says, “ _No_. How can you _ask_ me to do that, after you disappeared for two years, Dean? You can’t just _not_ tell me what’s going on, after all of that, because -”

“ - I’m not withholding my whole fucking life, Sam, I just don’t want to talk about this _right now_.” Dean sees, gritting his teeth and _not_ looking at Cas, because his blue-eyed stare will probably only make him more pissed off at Sam right now.

Did this honest to god have to be _now?_

“Sam,” Jess says, evenly. “Maybe -”

“ _Why_ did you walk out of therapy? You _said_ it was helping.”

“When have I ever said that?” Dean demands, hands balled into fists, painfully aware that this is _not_ what he’d envisioned Cas seeing so early on. The guy knows plenty about their family bullshit, sure, but that’s a little difference from getting the live show. “Sam, I am not discussing this with you. It’s _not_ gonna happen.”

“We haven’t talked _at all_ , for weeks, Dean. That wasn’t - you said you would try and communicate with me.”

“Fine. She suggested I look into AA and I thought that was bull, so I walked out. Happy?”

“What?” Sam asks.

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have said that because it’s _out of context_ and because Sam is going to worry, and Cas will - well, Cas has been pretty damn non-invasive about all of that by and large, but Dean’s pretty damn sure that there are lines. He doesn’t want to find out where they are. 

It’s just, Sam makes him _so goddamn crazy_ with his pushy, self-entitled routine, like Sam didn’t push Dean out of his whole damn existence. It’s just, he goes from wanting from never wanting to upset Sam again in his whole life to needing to shock him into reality. It’s just, if Sam is going to push him for answers he can’t handle _maybe_ Dean’s just gonna give them to him to shut him up. 

“Fuck this,” Dean says, “I’m going home.”

“Dean,” Jess says, voice gentle, “Stay, okay? We don’t need to talk about this now. Right, Sam?”

“I don’t want to talk about it _at all_ ,” Dean says, “I am _literally_ paying money to talk to someone about this. I don’t need anyone else giving me a hard time.”

“But you _walked out_ ,” Sam says, because when Sam enters self-righteous mode he’s a _dog with a bone_ and it’s the most infuriating, grating thing.

“Sam,” Jess says, eyes pointed, “Not _now_ , okay?”

“I’m going back next week,” Dean throws back, “Can we _please_ drop this and fucking eat? I don’t want to punch you in the face, Sam, and it feels really tempting right now.”

Sam deflates.

“I - fine,” He says, tension stored up in his shoulders, “ _But -_ ”

“No,” Dean says, mouth hard, “Someone order me a beer while I get some air.”

“It’s,” Jess begins, biting her lip, “They don’t have a liquor licence. It’s soft drinks only.”

“ _Sam_ , if you did this on purpose -”

“ - I didn’t, Dean,” Sam snaps back, “Every decision I’ve ever made wasn’t picked out to irritate you, you know.”

“I need a fucking smoke,” Dean says, standing up, “Get me a coke.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, a few moments later, appearing at the front of the restaurant and looking at him with those eyes, while Dean’s fumbling with the packet of cigarettes he told himself he wasn’t going to buy. Except then it was a trade off between buying vodka to drink, straight, and it felt like the cigarettes were the better call. He’s… he _is_ doing better, damnit, but there’s years and years of shitty coping mechanisms and shitty things that he believed about himself to untangle and he can’t do all of it at once. He can’t.

“Sorry,” Dean says, swallowing, “Damnit. You really didn’t need to see this. _Fuck_. Cas.”

“Your brother loves you a lot.”

“Yep,” Dean agrees, inhaling another drag of his cigarette, “And he’s a self righteous pain in the ass about it.”

“I think him and Jessica are having a domestic about him pushing you.”

“Wow,” Dean says, “We’re really treating you to a full shit show, huh?” 

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas says, hovering very close, “I know how families can be.”

“Yeah, guess you do,” Dean says, “Still, I was kind of a jerk back there. Well, kind of a total raging douchebag, actually.”

“Emotions are running high,” Cas says, “Dean, I know you said you would stay at mine tonight, but - ”

“- yeah, I probably gotta talk to Sam. Damnit,” Dean says, “Okay. Cas. If you want to leave, no one would blame you right now. This dinner. This whole thing. You don’t have to stick it out just because,”

“I’m intending to remind you of this when Gabriel is in town and insists on meeting you again.”

Dean sighs at the deflation. They probably need to talk about all of this too.

“And I’m not -- never claimed not to be a head case, but I _swear_ I’m not fucking up as much as it sounds right now. It’s just that trying to fix everything is makin’ me realise how much I broke all of it in the first place.”

“Dean,” Cas says, “You’ve just started a new job, in a _bar_ that puts you on opposing schedules to everyone you know in this state. It is reasonable that you are finding this difficult.”

That is… infinitely more leeway than he’s been allowing himself. 

“We should go back in. I’ve theoretically quit, anyway.” Dean says, dropping his half smoked cigarette and feeling his chest tighten.

“Wait,” Cas says, with a hand to his arm, then kisses him.

The rest of their dinner is okay.

After, he climbs into the passenger seat of Cas’ car to debrief and to get to twist one of his hands in Cas’ hair and kiss him for a little while, before Cas breaks away to offer him a warm, syrupy goodnight. Dean exhales a _“you’re not even gonna ask?”_ into the space between them. Cas smiles, a little, and says asks if there’d be any point asking him before he’s ready.

Dean can’t deny that he’s got a point.

Sam and Jess are not so lenient, which is about what he’d have expected.

A tense, loud silence is waiting for him in the front room of their apartment when he gets back. He’d half been expecting Jess to have slipped away to stay out of it the way she has whenever the conversation topic veered into this territory, but she’s sat with her hands curled around a cup of coffee. Sam is tense. He’s carrying it all in his gigantor limbs as he sits opposite Jess, not looking at either of them.

Dean takes the seat at the other end of the table as a rough indicator that he’s as ready as he ever will be to drag this conversation out into the light.

Jess is the one to break the silence. 

“Look,” Jess says, glancing between them, “I didn’t want to mediate between you because, frankly, it’s none of my business, but maybe right _now_ it would be helpful, because today was totally unacceptable.”

“Jess,” Sam says, his voice much softer than Dean is used to hearing it. Dean’s stomach clenches a little, because none of this should be _new_ to Dean. He shouldn’t be wondering whether or not they argued on the drive back from the restaurant, or talked it out, or whether they drove in silence without acknowledging any of it. He should know, instinctively, how Sam works. 

“ _Sam_ ,” Jess says, “As someone who is usually pretty emotionally smart, I never understood how this whole _thing_ even happened until this evening. You two are such… _brothers_. And maybe you _do_ need to yell it out, but you’re so - pigheadedly _emotional_ about it all that neither of you are communicating properly so… Dean,” Jess says, “You don’t know me very well yet, so you have every right to tell me to butt out, okay? But I think, maybe, you need a translator. Someone _less_ involved.” 

“Go ahead,” Dean says, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Okay,” Jess says, “Okay. Correct me if I’m wrong, but… Therapy is a big deal, Sam, and it’s private and difficult and crappy. If you want to _ask_ about it, then you _can_ , but not out for dinner in front of me and Cas. And _you_ don’t get to dictate where the boundaries are just because you’re hurt and you have to accept that some things are off limits. And, Dean, Sam _is_ going to ask about this and you’re going to have to make allowances for him being so blinded by how shit scared he is of losing you again that he doesn’t handle it right, okay? He… I feel like he does have a right to know things, given everything that’s happened. And you can’t just drop things like AA into conversation and not expect a backlash. And _Sam_ , if you corner someone, they are _going_ to fight back. The _problem_ here is that you’re both so... involved in this that you can’t see straight.”

“Well, hey,” Dean says, words sticking in the back of his throat, “I stopped trying to see straight when I was twenty one.”

“I didn’t mean to corner you,” Sam says, not smiling at his dumb joke, which figures. Sam didn’t know about that till one of those voicemails. It’s not _funny_ to Sam that Dean hid that from him. It’s not really funny to Dean right now, either. “That’s not what I _meant_ , Dean, I just… we were _getting_ somewhere, before.”

“What she said,” Dean says, pointing a thumb in Jess’ direction, “Not _against_ talking some of this stuff out, Sam, but I need _time_.”

“And that is totally your call,” Jess says, “But I do think that -- that there is some stuff that we need to talk about, to clarify.”

It occurs to Dean that Jess would have listened to all those voicemails, with _Sam_. That Sam has the kind of serious, life-partner that would sit with a hand on his arm as he listened, over and over, to Dean explaining how everything spun out of control.

“You mean we were getting somewhere when we were just talking through those dumb voicemails?” Dean asks, tapping his knuckles against the table to do something with the agitation beginning to brew up in his gut again. He wishes this wasn’t so _difficult_. He wishes the fact that they both love each other enough that they’d drive themselves crazy over it was enough for everything about their relationship so slip back into place again. This _rebuilding_ and _rebalancing_... it’s more complicated than buying a damn plane ticket.

It’s painstaking and _painful_ and it never feels like it’s going completely in the right direction.

“Yes, Dean,” Sam says, “Is it really that hard for you to tell me how you feel face to face?”

“Yes.”

“Dean -”

“ - you wanted me to be honest,” Dean says, voice edging on cutting, “That’s me being honest. _Yes_ , Sam. It is that hard.”

“Why?”

“Pass,” Dean says, because he doesn’t really _know_ why, except that there’s a whole part of his being that half thinks Sam doesn’t want him here, and another part that thinks he shouldn’t be burdening Sam with this anyway, and another part that’s so _goddamn mad_ at him. It was easier to sift through all of that with a whole ocean between them and when he didn’t have to navigate respectful shared use of the fridge. _This_ is complicated.

“Dean,” Sam begins, voice picking up heat again.

“Sam,” Jess says, and they exchange a look. Sam clenches his jaw. “Look, you’ve both been hurting and missing each other and blaming yourselves and each other and we- it was probably naive to think this would be a smooth ride, but that's okay. I just think that there are some… Questions that need to be asked, that Sam has told me he wanted to ask, but because he doesn't want to...upset you, or for you to take off again -”

“ - I'm not fucking taking off again.”

“ _I_ know that,” Jess says, “but you understand why that's difficult for Sam to really internalise, right?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean grunts, increasing the pace of his taping, “What are the damn questions?”

Jess blinks rapidly, like she wasn’t expecting him to agree, or for any of this to go remotely smoothly. He’s not about to raise his voice at Sam’s freaking girlfriend, which is a good of a reason as any for Jess the one to steer this ship right this second. He doesn’t have to like it, but he can’t deny there’s sense to it.

“Okay,” Jess says, looking back to Sam, “How long… How long had you felt like that, before you took the job on the boat?”

“Felt like what?”

“Like you might hurt yourself,” Sam says , voice small, “That's what you meant, right? You didn't say it, outright, but -- you were thinking about killing yourself.”

Dean stops tapping. Exhales. Doesn’t breathe for a few long seconds as he tries to conjure up something to say to _that_.

“Right. That's what I meant,” Dean says, very aware of his knuckles resting against the wood of Sam and Jess’ kitchen, and how real all of this feels all of a sudden. He’s peeling the words from a dark, empty place in his chest that he doesn’t really like to acknowledge is there, especially to Sam. Sam and Jess. It is not surprising that they’ve asked. He… he probably _does_ need them to know that information, he’d just prefer it if that didn’t involve actually talking about it. “And I… I don't know. Not long. I mean, I stopped caring about what happened to me before that, and I was -. reckless, stupid, cause it didn't matter much to me what happened, but I... I don't know. It wasn't till after I found Dad that it… That. It wasn't like I was thinking clearly.”

“What to you mean, reckless?” Sam asks, a little heat concentrated in his voice.

“Dumb stuff. Driving too fast. Driving drunk. Picking fights. Hustling pool from someone who could knock me into next week because why the hell not.”

“And drinking?”

“Yes,” Dean says, sharp, “Yes, drinking.”

“You said you drove to Palo Alto drunk when you… that day.”

“I didn’t say it like I was _proud_ of it.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Sam says, “I didn’t know you were drunk.”

“I figured,” Dean says, gritting his teeth, “I’m not _claiming_ to have a good relationship with alcohol, Sam, but it is _under control_.”

“Dean -”

“ - I had a couple of whiskey’s the other night, then Cas invited me over and I couldn’t go cause I was over the limit and it - I got in my head about it, and talked about it at freaking therapy, and she said the stuff about alcohol support services. And _maybe_ six months ago, that might have been - that might have helped - but I am fixing this _on my own_. Only mentioned it because you were pushing and I wanted you to shut up. This is just _minor league_.”

“What was the major league?”

“What?”

“How _bad_ was it, Dean?” Sam asks, gaze electric.

“Why d’ you wanna dig into this, Sam?” Dean throws back, “What does it _matter_? It’s… things are better, why isn’t that enough?”

“I need to know,” Sam says and, _dammit_ he’s eyes are shining slightly, and Dean can’t deal with Sam nearly crying him, ever. “I need to know _for me_ , how bad it was.”

“You want that in bottles or units?” Dean asks, untangling his fists to lay his palm flat against the table.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I ain’t laughing,” Dean says, fixing his gaze on the table, because he doesn’t really want to look at Sam as he dredges up more crappy memories, back against the wall of his shitty cabin in the bunk, nursing a bottle of whatever the fuck ever. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sam. Most nights of the first couple of months on the boat I’d drink till it bled into sleep, and then I just - existed. Didn’t drink as much then cause I didn’t feel anything, anyway, and then, I don’t know. Was barely… barely alive, and… I sang on that fucking boat stone cold sober a handful of times, all in the last six months. Drank _a lot_ a lot after the shitstorm with Lisa. Straight whatever with breakfast. Vodka and whiskey, mostly. Is that what you want to hear?” 

“No,” Sam says, voice poised on the edge of something as he stands, crosses the room and pulls him into a hug. The kind of desperate, naive hug that Sam used to bestow on him when Sam was still a dumb, nine year old kid who believed that Dean could protect him from anything. “No, Dean, that’s not what I want to hear. None of this is what I _wanted_.” Dean wraps his arms around his kid brother whose more of an adult that Dean could ever imagined him to be, and lets Sam try to smother his angry frustrations into Dean’s shoulder. 

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Sam chokes out.

“I - me too, Sammy. All the time. All the damn time.”

It only occurs to him when Sam has finally let go that he has no idea when Jess bowed out of their conversation. 

He sleeps well, sober.

*

You have one new voicemail. 

_Hey, Dean. Me and Jess are on the road to her parents. She says hi. They’re only an hour out of Palo Alto, so… if you need us, we’re not far away. Look, I’m - I didn’t mean to bring up all that crap in front of Cas. It just… happened. I didn’t mean to screw anything up for you. It just felt like... Like I'd barely seen you because of your job and we still have so much to talk about, and it hits me sometimes how much I missed. About how you felt. And I just - I never want that to happen again. I never want to have not talked about it with you, but - that's not an excuse. Can you... tell Cas I’m sorry? Blame it all on me, if it helps. I meant to say that last night, before it... Before it got heavy. Okay. Well. Guess we’ll see you when we’re back on Monday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'll just write a nice light chapter before we get to the stuff I had planned out for the final chapters. Nice liiigghhtt chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> And then this happened.
> 
> (Cas' thoughts on this whole thing will come up soon, I promise)


End file.
